


Hyde's Long Way Home

by MistyMountainHop



Category: That '70s Show
Genre: Gen, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:39:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 143,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyMountainHop/pseuds/MistyMountainHop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hyde goes on a self-destructive bender after finding Jackie with a towel-wrapped Kelso. The day after that, he wakes up ... and it's the same day as before. He's doomed to live the same day over and over — unless he can figure out a way to live it right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Setup

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do” (C) ABBA; 1993 Polydor / Umgd.
> 
>  **Zen Factor:** High. Jackie and Hyde belong together.

CHAPTER 1  
**THE SETUP**

_September 8th, 1979_

_Kenosha, Wisconsin_

_The Shooting Star Motel  
_ **…**

Hyde woke on his stomach, face mashed into a lumpy pillow. His head ached, and his mouth felt dry, and a thick haze smothered his memory, making him unsure of where he was. But as he rolled onto his back, one thought burned through his mind, bright and hot like a comet: _Jackie's worth shit._

Wherever the hell he was, he'd had too much to drink last night—and not enough. The pain throbbing at his temples didn't come from a hangover; it came from the shit-awful ABBA song blasting into his ears. He opened his eyes hesitantly, not knowing what—or _whom—_ he would find. But all that stood above him was a pitted, grayish ceiling. A motel... He'd gone to a motel, man.

_" _Now I just made it. I found you at last."__

The crappy music was shoving itself into his brain, and he angled his head to the right. On the nightstand was a lamp, a telephone—and a freakin' clock radio. That was the fucker who'd woken him up at eight in the damn morning.

_"I do, I do, I do, I do, I do."_

His fist shot out, and the clock radio flew from the nightstand. It fell to the floor, fritzed out for a second but didn't break. His hand, however, got scraped by the clock's sharp corner. Blood was oozing from the needle-thin wound, and he wiped it on his shirt.

__"Oh, no hard feelings between you and me if we can't make it, but just wait and see."_ _

The song still warbled below him, like a drunk chick who wouldn't shut up. He was still completely dressed from the night before, including his boots, so he pushed himself off the bed and stomped on the clock radio with all his power. The tuning knob popped off, and the plastic casing cracked, but ABBA continued to assault him through the tinny speaker:

_"So come on. Now let's try it. I love you. Can't deny it 'cause it's true."_

"Fuck off," he muttered and grasped the power cord. He yanked it, agitating the nightstand in the process, but the plug pulled from the wall.

Finally, some damn silence.

He tossed the plug onto the beige carpet, but the quiet didn't lift his mood. The fog choking his memory had vanished, and he sank to the bed as images flooded his system: Jackie in a nightgown, an uncomfortable smile. The creak of a door and a white towel. What he'd seen in Chicago last night made his body feel tight, like a twisted rope. If Kelso hadn't gotten away from him in that parking lot, one of them would've been in prison right now—and the other dead.

Hyde shut his eyes, clutched his knees. His breath was escaping him in quick, shallow bursts, and it pissed him off. His Zen was nowhere, man. Willpower alone had gotten him safely to Kenosha yesterday, kept him from crashing the Camino into a telephone pole or another car. But he couldn't stop weighing the facts against each other.

Kelso being naked and Kelso talking crap about "doing it"—he could ignore. But when Hyde had shown up in Jackie's room, she was cagey as hell. Even pulled her nightgown tighter around her body like she didn't want him to spot something. And then she'd tried to get him _out_ of the room before Kelso had gotten there...

And those were the details that sent him straight to the Cheesecake Palace last night, a nudie bar next to the motel. He'd gotten plastered and spilled his guts to one of the strippers. She was a blonde about his age, had kind eyes.

"Found my chick about to fuck my fuckin' friend," he said during her lap dance. Her grinding hips made him hard but brought him no deep joy, and she seemed to notice.

"My name's Sam," she whispered. "I can do more with you once my shift is over."

"Don't got enough on me."

"Oh, not for money. Just for fun."

"Why?"

Her hands eased onto his shoulders, and the motion of her hips slowed. "You sound so sad—and you're too cute to be sad."

"Thanks..." A smile broke on his face, and laughter rose from his stomach—the first pleasant feeling he'd had in days. "But I gotta pass."

His rejection didn't appear to faze her. She squeezed her thighs around his waist and ground straight into his waning hard-on. "If you change your mind," she said, "you know where I am. I have the early shift tomorrow."

He thanked her a second time and staggered out of the nudie bar around 3:00 A.M. He dragged himself to the motel where he'd already checked in. Then he trudged up the one flight of stairs to his room and fell onto the bed without changing.

Now it was five hours later, at eight-something in the morning. Hyde lay back on the thin comforter, hands covering his face and feet planted firmly on the floor. His eyes remained closed for a long while, but his brain wouldn't give him any rest. _Uncomfortable smile. Fingers tugging on a nightgown. Creaking door._ He should've known Jackie would always go back to Kelso. Two years ago, man—when he'd spotted them on the Pinciottis' couch—he should've been done with her for good.

9:04 A.M.

Hyde's mouth tasted rank, and his shirt smelled like cigarettes and booze. Yesterday had stunk him up, all right, in too many damn ways—and he couldn't take it anymore, so he finally quit brooding and went to the bathroom.

He brushed his teeth but skipped a shower. He didn't feel like having one, and his duffel bag was filled with fresh clothes anyway. It was by the bed, and after washing his hands, he traded his beer-soaked Rolling Stones shirt for his clean black Zeppelin. He also shrugged on his denim jacket, slid on his shades. The day needed to get started already and push yesterday far behind him, and with that goal in mind, he left the room.

The lobby downstairs was cramped and decorated with cracked yellow paint. A different concierge was on duty than the one who'd checked him in last night. She was a middle-aged woman, fat with a greasy forehead. Chipped tortoiseshell barrettes held back her frizzy hair, and the name tag pinned to her violet blouse read, "Phyllis".

Hyde hesitated before approaching her. "Phyllis" was the name of his aunt—Edna's sister—and the ugliest woman he'd ever known. But his aunt was rail-thin. This chick could've eaten her two-times over.

"Um... hey," he said and took his wallet from his jeans.

Phyllis leaned forward on the concierge desk, "What can I do for you, sweetheart?" and showed off her cleavage. Her eyes were looking at him with something he recognized all too well: Lust.

"You got a copy of the paper?" he said.

"Yup. That's an amenity here at the Shooting Star Motel." She smiled widely, revealing a missing molar. "So am I."

He stuffed his wallet back into his pocket. "Just the paper."

Phyllis's smile drooped to a frown. Deep lines, like a marionette's, emerged on either side of her chin, but she handed him the day's _Milwaukee Sentinel_.

Outside, the sky was a clear blue with only wisps for clouds. The temperature was mild except for some wind, and a strong gust blew a plastic bag across the motel's parking lot. Hyde walked past some cars to the Camino and gave her a pat on the hood. She was his only baby now, always dependable, did what he told her—and she had only one set of keys, which were in his jeans pocket.

His hunger led him to the Birch Road Café down the street. The place looked more like dive than a café. The floral wallpaper was peeling, half the booth seats were duct-taped, and the smell of burnt bacon had absorbed into everything. But none of that mattered long as the food was decent.

He took a booth at the back and settled in. The menu was ten pages long, but his choice was simple: Pancakes, sausage, orange juice. Something Mrs. Forman might have cooked him this morning.

A waiter soon took his order, and Hyde read the paper while he waited for the food. "Saturday Morning, September 8th, 1979"—just another crappy day in his crappy life. Crappy for other people, too, apparently. The headlines on the front page were a mix:

"Crippled Widow Stabbed to Death".

"Carter Firm on Cuba".

"Milwaukee Road Fears Disputed".

And his favorite, "Miller Loses in 'Light' Ruling". The courts had ruled against Miller Lite's trademark lawsuit against Schlitz. Pretty cool, man... and inspiring. He arched an eyebrow. Booze, a good way to start the day.

He found a liquor store after breakfast. Drinking had been his parents' way of coping with shit, but why break with tradition? He scanned the dusty shelves for something he could use: Jack Daniel's and Southern Comfort were freakin' clichés, but Four Roses Bourbon? Classy.

He bought a bottle of it along with two six-packs of Schlitz. About ten minutes later, he was back in his motel room, sitting cross-legged on the floor and against the bed. The black-and-white TV was on. A beer was in his hand, but the hard stuff he'd save for later, maybe for when he had some company.

11:01 A.M.

 _The Price Is Right_ was playing on the television, and five empty beer cans were scattered on the carpet. Hyde chucked one at the screen as Johnny Olson announced, "Mark Ryerson, come on down!"

The can bounced off the TV and fell harmlessly to the floor.

"Nancy Dibner, come on down!" Johnny Olson shouted, and a sprightly brunette sprang from her seat and ran to Contestants' Row.

"Go fuck yourself, Nancy Dibner," Hyde mumbled. He picked up a full, unopened beer and drew back his arm. The show needed to be destroyed, man. It shitted on people's lives, made 'em do stupid things—but he let the can slip from his fingers. Breaking the television wouldn't impress the maid, and getting kicked out of the motel wasn't on his agenda today.

A return to The Cheesecake Palace, however, definitely was on his agenda, but it wouldn't open until four. That left him with five hours to kill. He dug into his duffel bag and pulled out his stash. He'd packed enough pot and clothes to last him a week, dumbly thinking he'd stay in Chicago for a while—with Jackie.

"Doris Lichtenstein, come on down!"

Hyde stood up and shut off the TV. He took a much-needed leak in the bathroom; then he stretched out on the bed with a joint. The clock radio was still unplugged and in pieces on the floor. No way to set an alarm in case he fell asleep, but whatever. He'd wake up eventually.

He sparked up, sucked in a few deep hits... and felt pretty good. After a few more, he began to laugh. The pitted ceiling looked like the freakin' moon, man. His own private moon in the Shooting Star Motel.

He took another hit and held in the smoke, hoping gravity would shut off. But it made the moon draw closer until it crushed him against the bed. The pressure against his lungs forced open his mouth, and a white cloud burst from his lips. _Crap._ Air wasn't getting inside him easily, and he tried to shove the moon off him so he could breathe—

But the moon wasn't the moon anymore. It was an ocean wave, undulating over his body. Water lapped at his ears and licked his eardrums. It seeped deeper inside where it moaned in pleasure. Not his. _Jackie's._ Smoke and booze had pulled the sound from his memory, and another voice joined it. Not his. _Kelso's._ Like they were fucking each other right on top of him.

Hyde shut his eyes, but it did no good. Jackie and Kelso were behind them, nailing each other inside his skull.

"Get the hell off me..." he mumbled, but the imagined weight of their bodies kept him anchored to the bed. By the time he could move again, the damage had been done. The vision had played out to its scornful, climactic end.

With a whispered curse, he leaned over the bed's side and snatched a beer off the floor. A piece of the clock radio's wiring caught on his eyeball ring, but it came off with a shake. He didn't know the damn time, didn't care. Just needed to get them—to get _her_ —out of his head.

5:26 P.M.

Hyde had fallen asleep, thanks to his beer and another joint, but he was fully awake now. First thing he did was check his watch. Second thing he did was open the bottle of bourbon and down some of it. The liquor burned his throat and settled uneasily in his stomach. It was enough, man. A little went a long way, and he stashed the bottle underneath the bed along with his remaining beers.

Sam was already on stage when he got to the Cheesecake Palace, and she was dancing to the Guess Who's "American Woman". Her stars-and-stripes outfit barely covered her body, but only a few people were in the bar to enjoy it. As far as strip joints went, this place was nothing special. Booze cheap enough to make a guy give up his cash, the playlist a mix of disco and rock—and strippers a mix of ages and body types.

Hyde took a front row seat and caught Sam's gaze. She smiled back warmly, which prompted him to hold out a one-dollar bill. A busty redhead in black pasties reached for it, but he withdrew his hand and nodded at Sam. She spotted his gesture and strutted over to him in-sync with the music. A professional, he appreciated that, and he replaced the one-dollar bill with a five.

Sam bent over seductively, seized the five with her teeth, and tossed it onto the stage. Then she grasped his shoulders and sank down onto his lap. "Glad you showed up," she said and began to grind against him.

Her gyrations gave him a hard-on immediately. This time, the feeling went deeper, alleviated some the tension in his brain. He relaxed into her movements, and in response, she placed his hands on her ass and ground into him harder.

"Needed you this morning," he said.

"Oh, you could've stopped by." She raised herself so her cleavage was level with his face, and her scent drifted into his nostrils—a hint of spice and citrus. "A few of us live in an apartment upstairs," she said. "Me and the girls were sewing some new outfits, including this one. You like?"

He glanced at the sparkly red, white, and blue halter top. "I'd like it better off you."

7:00 P.M.

Sam eventually removed her top on stage, revealing large breasts that looked out of place on her thin body. But now she was covered by a trench coat. It was time for her break, and Hyde offered to buy her dinner. She accepted happily, and he brought her to the Birch Road Café where she ordered a turkey sandwich to go. He ordered nothing. His hunger had nothing to do with food.

They split his bourbon and her sandwich back in his motel room, shared a few laughs about random shit. She had him on the bed afterward, his jeans yanked halfway off his legs. This was what he needed—escape, and his hands bunched up the comforter as Sam's warm mouth skillfully worked his latest erection. She varied the intensity to keep him from coming too fast, but as she finally pushed him toward release, he told her to stop.

"What's wrong?" she said by his thigh.

He was breathing hard, found it hard to speak. "Don't... wanna finish when you're on the other end. Fun for only one of us." He lay back his head, remembering all too well how some of his "uncles" had treated his mother—like she wasn't part of the picture. "Just use your hand," he said. "Or I can—"

Sam rubbed the top of his knuckles. "You're really sweet," she said. "But you've let me do this my way, so let me finish my way, 'kay? I promise I'm good at it."

Her mouth slid over his shaft again, driving euphoria straight into his body. His eyes shut involuntarily, and he gave in as she proved herself right.

7:42 P.M.

Sam used Hyde's knees to push herself up and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "You really are sweet, you know."

"Whatever."

He zipped up his jeans, and the dismissive tone of his voice rang sharply in his ears. He hadn't recovered yet from his explosive release—or everything it meant. But this chick didn't deserve any of that crap.

He cleared his throat and tried again. "Thank you... That was the nicest thing anyone's done for me in a while."

"Oh..." She lowered her eyes shyly. Her trench coat was only half-buttoned over her body, and she finished the job. Then she cupped Hyde's chin. The gesture was gentle, just like her. "I could marry a guy like you."

"Yeah... right." He walked her to the door, and loneliness enveloped him like frost. Once she left, what did he have? One friend had screwed him, another friend was crossing the damn ocean, and Jackie... He touched Sam's arm. "You wanna come back here when your shift's over?"

"Sure," she said, and the joy in her dark blue eyes melted some of the frost.

12:07 A.M.

Hyde had downed the bottle of bourbon to its last third, and he was trashed. Trashed and fuckin' waiting, man. Sam wasn't back yet, so he sat against the door, hoping to feel the vibration of her knocks. To pass the time, he picked at the needle-thin scab on his hand. It started to bleed again and sting. Physical pain, man. A good distraction.

But not the best.

When the knocks finally came, he stood up on wobbly legs—and accidentally kicked the bottle of bourbon. It rolled away toward the TV. His instinct was to go after it, but he pulled open the door instead.

Sam was standing in the motel hallway, wearing her trench coat and holding a small, sequined purse. "Hi," she said. "I brou—"

Hyde kissed her, sliding his fingers into the back of her hair and drawing her inside the room. Once he let them both breathe, her eyes glazed over with elated surprise.

"Wow. I mean... _wow_ , _"_ she said. "I almost never let guys kiss me anymore, but..."

Her mouth returned to him, and her nimble tongue coaxed his need into overdrive. He wanted her naked, to feel her warmth against his skin. His reflexes were completely dulled, but his fingers managed to undo the buttons of her coat. He tore off his shirt, pulled her to the bed, and she giggled when he practically fell on top of her.

"Sorry," he mumbled, but his clumsy, drunken enthusiasm seemed to delight her.

She dug her hands into his back as his lips gave attention to the parts probably ignored by most—the crook of her elbow, the soft skin behind her ear, the curve of her waist. She tasted different than what he was used to, reacted differently... but she was here.

"Hyde," she said between unsteady breaths, "no one's... No one kisses me like this."

He looked at her with bleary eyes. "Like what?"

"Like they care... about me."

"Guys who fuck chicks without giving a shit about 'em..." his voice was slurring, and he barely knew what he was saying, "don't deserve to fuck."

A choked whimper escaped her, and she lay his hand over her breast. "I really could marry you."

Hyde chuckled and continued to kiss her. But his booze-soaked brain soon lost all sense of time. One moment his face was between Sam's thighs, the next she had him on his back and completely inside her. Her rocking thrusts sent intense currents of pleasure through his body, but his voice was calling out for someone who wasn't her... two syllables... and they turned into an anguished groan as he came.

"Oh, is that the girl you found with your friend?" Sam said breathlessly.

"Wha—what?" he said.

"Jackie." She hugged his chest and nuzzled his face. "She's a fool for giving up a catch like you."

Her breasts didn't feel right against his skin, the sound of her breathing was unfamiliar—but she was here. He wrapped his arms around her back, wringing whatever comfort he could from her presence, and they lay together long enough that he fell asleep.

A light tap on his cheek woke him. "It's almost three," Sam said. She'd slipped off him and was putting on her trench coat. "I have to get back home."

He sat up, forced himself to focus. "I'll walk you," he said.

"You'll..." Her eyes widened in disbelief. "It's just next door."

"Yeah. I'll walk you."

* * *

Hyde sobered up a little once they were out in the cool night air. Sam held onto his arm, probably more to keep him steady than to show affection. The entrance to her building was down the street, right next to the Cheesecake Palace.

"3-E, that's me," she said and pointed to the buzzer system. She unlocked the front door but didn't go inside. "Hyde, I had a really nice time." Her hand was cradling the side of his face, and she drew him in for a final kiss. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

He shrugged. "Dunno." And the truth was, he didn't. The tenderness he'd given her belonged to another girl. "I'm sorry."

Sam nodded sadly, "So am I," and left him to the lampposts lighting the dark.

3:03 A.M.

Hyde stumbled into the motel lobby, slapped ten bucks on the concierge desk and muttered, "One more night," to Warren, the guy on duty. But one more night or a thousand, it wouldn't make a damn difference. He couldn't change shit, even if he wanted to.

The stairwell to the second floor looked a mile long, but Hyde dragged himself up the steps with the bannister. He felt sick from his thoughts and the booze and from everything that had happened since yesterday—and the stair-climb did him in. He fell to his knees when he got to his room, and his stomach unloaded onto the beige carpet. It stank like hell, but he didn't have the strength to crawl away.

He collapsed beside his own puke, exhausted.

* * *

 _"_ __I do, I do, I do, I do, I do."_ _

Hyde felt sagging mattress beneath his stomach instead of hard floor, soft comforter against his skin instead of rough carpet. He didn't remember climbing onto the bed last night, but it must have happened... 'cause here he was.

__"Oh, I've been dreaming through my lonely past."_ _

The strains of ABBA were polluting his ears again, just like the morning before.

__"Now I just made it. I found you at last."_ _

It was the same damn song, too. What the hell were the odds, man, of being woken up twice by that crap? He groaned and popped open his eyes. A clock radio, an exact copy of the one he'd broken yesterday, sat on the nightstand. The time read 8:00 A.M.

_"So come on. Now let's try it. I love you. Can't deny it..."_

He scowled and got off the bed. Then he pulled the clock's plug from its socket. The resulting quiet let him concentrate and gave him a chance to scan his surroundings. No traces of the clock he'd busted, not even the plastic knob. And the puke on the carpet... gone.

 _Huh._ His mouth didn't taste like he'd puked, either. In fact, his body felt a whole lot better than it should have, considering the amount of booze he'd thrown back His skull wasn't pounding with a hangover, and he wasn't tired. Maybe he'd just imagined vomiting up his stomach and falling asleep beside it.

A long stretch got the morning kinks out of his back, and a yawn brought the smell of cigarettes and alcohol into his nose. He glanced down at his torso. His yellow Rolling Stones shirt was covering it, but hadn't he been wearing his black Zeppelin shirt? How freakin' drunk had he gotten last night?

He searched underneath the bed for his few remaining beers but found nothing. His bottle of bourbon wasn't near the TV either—it wasn't anywhere. Sam couldn't have swiped it...

Hyde ran a hand over his face and gave himself time to think. Only one explanation, man. The maid had come into his room while he slept. She cleaned up, replaced the clock radio, and dragged him to the bed.

And changed his shirt.

Whatever. He'd gotten wasted last night. Maybe he'd switched shirts himself.

Either way, it didn't matter. He needed to take a leak and a shower. He lumbered into the bathroom and began to unzip his jeans—and flinched at his reflection in the mirror. Two days-worth of not shaving, but his face showed the stubble of only one.

"What the hell?" He raced back to his duffel bag. His razor was still inside it, untouched. _Sam._ She'd brought a small purse with her, and it could've contained a razor. She must have shaved him while he slept, probably had a fetish or something... freakin' stripper.

He rushed through his shower and put on his green "This T-Shirt Stops At All Bars" shirt—'cause he'd be hitting a bar or three. Going home wasn't gonna happen today, but staying in Kenosha didn't seem like a viable option either.

He went downstairs to the lobby, and Phyllis was wearing the same violet blouse as yesterday. Her frizzy hair was pulled back the same way, too. Not surprising. Didn't seem like a chick who gave too much thought to how she looked.

She pushed her fat breasts into the concierge desk as she stared at him with naked lust. "What can I do for you, sweetheart?"

"Newspaper," he said.

"That's an amenity here at the Shooting Star Motel," she said, and her grin showed that missing molar of hers again. "So am I."

He rolled his eyes behind his shades. "Man, does that line actually work?"

"Well, when it doesn't—" she stuffed a paper under her arm and stepped out from behind the desk; then she grabbed a sizable chunk of his ass, "—this usually does."

"Right." He snatched the paper from her arm.

"See ya later, hot stuff!" she called after him.

He was halfway out the door when he mumbled, "Not if I can fuckin' help it."

8:35 A.M.

The Birch Road Café's menu lay closed on the table as Hyde stared at the _Milwaukee Sentinel_. The date read, "Saturday Morning, September 8th, 1979," and all the front page headlines were the same: "Crippled Widow Stabbed to Death," "Carter Firm on Cuba," "Milwaukee Road Fears Disputed".

Phyllis had given him yesterday's paper, the fucking botard.

"You ready to order?" A waitress was standing beside his table, order pad in her hand and gum in her mouth.

"Just some toast," he said. His appetite had shrunk.

"Toast." The waitress wrote down his order and began to leave.

"Wait a sec, man. What day is it?"

"Uh..." she chewed her gum noisily, "Saturday."

He sighed. This town was full of botards. "Wasn't that yesterday?"

"No, _Friday_ was yesterday."

"What's the date, then?"

"Look," the waitress jabbed her pen at him, "I'm not paid enough to play _Twenty Questions,_ and I got other customers. So unless you're asking me out on one, I don't give a cow's teat about the date." She turned away and walked to another booth.

She came back minutes later with his toast, assorted packets of butter and jam, and the bill. "It's the eighth," she said with a glower. "Enjoy your toast."

Hyde picked up a triangle of toast and bit into it, but his appetite had completely disappeared. The bill was a buck plus tax, about what he could afford. He took out his wallet to pay—and a lot more cash than he expected was inside: Two twenties, a couple of tens and fives, six ones. Hell, it was the same amount as yesterday morning.

Someone had to be playing a joke on him.

He dropped two bucks on the table and left the restaurant. He needed a newspaper stand before he beat the crap outta somebody. Three streets over, he found one. But all the _Milwaukee Sentinel_ s and _Milwaukee Journals_ had the same date: September 8th, 1979.

"Hey!" he shouted to the guy working the stand. "Where the hell's today's paper?"

"Are you blind?" the guy said back.

"No, man. These are all Saturday's. What about Sunday's?"

The guy wrinkled his brow. "If you want that, come back tomorrow... on _Sunday._ Hophead."

"Thanks..." Hyde flipped him off, "asshole." But as he gave the bird, he spotted something strange about his hand. No scab. He'd gotten scraped yesterday, bad enough to bleed. But his skin showed no trace of it.

The ABBA song, his lack of beard growth, the supposed _date—_ all these things revved his pulse into overdrive. He bolted down the street, had to get somewhere safe. Someone wasn't playing a joke on him, man—he was being setup. It had finally happened. But who the hell would wanna set himup? What was the point?

He ran all the way to Lichter Road and called the Formans' with a payphone. It was past nine o'clock, and he hoped someone was home.

After two rings, Red answered with his usual grumpiness.

Hyde's pulse relaxed a little. "Hey, Red."

"Steven?"

"Yeah."

"How's Chicago? Did you find the loud one?" Red's tone had shifted. He sounded pleased to hear from him.

"Yeah, I found her. Could you tell me the date?"

"What?"

"No one 'round here seems to know," Hyde said.

"Why the hell don't you know yourself?"

"I'm a dumbass."

A sound like rustling paper came through the phone, followed by Red's sigh. "It's the eighth."

"Saturday?"

"Are you doped up? Yes, it's Saturday."

Hyde pressed his forehead against the payphone's housing. Whoever was setting him up, they'd already gotten to Red. But Hyde had to play it cool. "Thanks, man," he said.

"Yeah, well, you better get your ass home soon," Red said. "Kitty doesn't like cooking for an empty house."

"Sure thing, Red." But Hyde had no idea if he'd ever be home.

9:21 A.M.

Hyde ended up at Sam's apartment building, and the walk there had calmed him down enough to think things through. He could've dreamt yesterday up, but the theory didn't explain the ABBA song on both mornings. Or how he knew what was in the paper. Unlike Kelso, he didn't believe in psychic bullshit.

Facts, man. They were the only thing he could go on. If yesterday _had_ been a dream, then this wasn't Sam's apartment building, and she wouldn't answer when he buzzed apartment 3-E.

He pushed the white square button, and a hesitant voice answered moments later. "Who is it?"

 _Damn it._ That was Sam's voice.

"It's Hyde," he said. "Can I come up?"

"Oh, the curly cutie." Giggles came through the speaker. "Sure!"

She buzzed him in, and he entered a small, dimly-lit lobby. No elevator, which was fine by him. Those things were death-traps in buildings like this. He climbed the warped stairs to the third floor, and when he reached the landing, a mouse skittered past his feet.

Cracked ceiling lights were flickering in the hallway. Roaches crawled along the stained rug, and Hyde nodded at them. Nice place. Reminded him of the house he grew up in.

The door to 3-E was already open when he reached it. Sam opened it wider, and her expression warmed upon seeing him. "Come on in," she said.

He hesitated and stuck his hand into his left jeans pocket. His lock pick and lighter were inside, and he felt safer knowing they were there. Those two items were always on him, thanks to his uncle Chet's advice.

"It's okay," Sam said and brought him into the apartment. Her living room-kitchen combo was a decent size—and a beat-up mess. Torn curtains covered the windows. Cabinet doors hung off their hinges or were missing. Flush against the baseboards were mousetraps and bug traps.

And cigarette smoke choked the air. A few of the other strippers were sitting at a table with a bunch of colorful material. They were working on their outfits.

Hyde approached them, and one of the strippers pointed her cigarette at him. "Yeah, I remember you," she said.

"He _is_ cute," another stripper said, and they all began to giggle.

None of the chicks were wearing much, mostly t-shirts and panties. And none of 'em seemed surprised to see him there either. A good sign. Sam had shown him where her apartment was last night, not Friday.

He pointed to the table. "You work on your costumes every morning?"

Sam gave him a funny look. "Saturdays and Wednesdays usually."

 _"'Usually...'"_ He pulled her into the kitchen, behind the divider separating it from the living room. "Sam," he whispered, "what day is it?"

"Saturday." She was smiling with complete innocence, far more innocence than a stripper should've had.

He stared at her from behind his shades. "They got you, too."

"Who did?"

" _Them,_ " he said.

She peered around the divider at the other strippers. "Oh, no. I was dancing before I met any of them."

"No, that's not what I..." He clenched and unclenched his fists. "Never mind." This place was a dead end. He headed for the front door.

"Wait! Didn't you want something?" Sam shouted after him.

"Nothing you can give, man."

9:48 A.M.

Hyde was in the Camino and driving away from the Shooting Star Motel. His car, at least, he could trust. He'd gotten his duffel bag from the room and made a decision. If Red had been taken, Point Place was compromised. Returning there wasn't an option.

So he drove south... to Chicago. Kelso was too dumb to be taken in, and Jackie wouldn't be snowed either. Her will was too damn strong.

His foot laid into the gas pedal once he hit the highway _._ He had to get to Jackie, man—before anyone else did.


	2. They Don't Want Me to Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do” (C) ABBA; 1993 Polydor / Umgd.

CHAPTER 2  
 **THEY DON'T WANT ME TO KNOW**

Chicago. It wasn't a place Hyde thought he'd come back to in such a hurry, but he'd made good time on the interstate and arrived just before 11:30 A.M. Jackie was staying in the upscale Drake Hotel courtesy of her new job. Apparently, that TV producer really wanted her—and he could have her. All he needed was to find out the date. The _real_ date, not this September 8th bullshit.

He parked the Camino on the street to avoid dealing with the valet. Then he stepped into the Drake's showy lobby. Its thick carpeting, wood-paneled walls, and giant gleaming chandelier gave him the same, out-of-place feeling as two days ago. It wasn't his scene, man. Despite how rich his real father turned out to be, it never would be.

A bank of cream-colored elevators lay beyond the front desk. Hyde strode toward them, and one of the concierges called out, "Excuse me! Excuse me!"

"It's cool," Hyde said, glancing behind him. The concierge was a tanned lanky guy with the cheekbones of a chick. "I was here two ni—" Hyde interrupted himself. "I mean, last ni—I, uh... my girlfr—damn it." He gave up and walked to the front desk. "Look, my friend Jackie Burkhart's in room 7-D."

The concierge tilted his head. "Oh, you mean the bossy brunette who was here with Tall-and-Handsome? Yeah, they checked out early this morning."

"Checked out?" Hyde's muscles tensed as a dozen possibilities shot through his mind: Jackie bamboozled Kelso into a quickie-wedding, the hotel wasn't snooty enough for her, or—the worst possibility— _they_ had gotten to her. "Did she say where she was going?".

"Well, I'm not one to gossip," the concierge said in a mock-hush, "and I can't remember what was said word-for-word, but Tall-and-Handsome was complaining about how they could've gotten some 'happy-fun time in,' if you know what I mean..."

Hyde nodded, and the concierge continued. "But the bossy one said, 'No, Michael. The only happy-fun time you're gonna have is driving me home. _Now.'"_ The concierge looked down at his tie and straightened it. "I can't understand why she turned him down. I would've let that Michael do whatever he wanted."

"Uh-huh..." Hyde exhaled slowly to shore up his Zen. "This place got a payphone?"

The concierge pointed down a wide hall. "Across from the restrooms."

11:38 A.M.

No one else was at the row of payphones, and that was good. Hyde wanted some privacy. He had five dimes left, enough for two phone calls. Jackie should've been back in Point Place by now, but where the hell would she have gone? Not the Formans', and she never went to Kelso's even when she was dating him. It was a toss-up between Donna's and her own house. He dropped two dimes into a phone and tried the Burkhart Mansion.

After three rings, Pam Burkhart's melodic voice slurred through the receiver. "Hellooo?"

She sounded plastered, and Hyde kept his answer short. "Is Jackie there?"

"She _was,_ but she left a little while ago," Pam said. "You know, I haven't seen my little girl cry that much since Jack—her father—didn't show up for her seventh birthday... or was it her tenth? They all blend in together. Do you have any idea why she's so upset?"

"No." His grip on the receiver tightened. Pam had never been the most perceptive person, drunk or sober.

"Oh, well..." She let out a heavy breath. "Wait, who am I talking to?"

"No one," he said and hung up.

Only one place left to try. He dialed the Pinciottis', and Donna answered: "Hello?"

"Hey."

"Hyde? Oh, my God." A muffled sound hit his ear, as if she were covering the phone. Then, seconds later, she said, "Where are you?"

"Doesn't matter. Is Jackie there? And make it quick, man. These are my last dimes."

Another muffled sound crackled through the receiver, followed by a staticy swoosh, followed by... "Steven?"

_Jackie._ Her voice sounded thick, as if she'd been crying.

"Yeah," he said. "Kick Donna out of the room."

"What? Why?"

"I wanna talk to you in private. Kick her out."

"Oh... okay." The phone rattled a bit, and then Jackie sounded far away. "You gotta leave for a minute, Donna."

"I have to... what?" Donna's voice. "Its my ro—quit shoving me, you—"

A loud bang vibrated through the receiver, like a door being shut.

"Okay, Steven. She's gone," Jackie said. "But before you say anything, I need you to know that I'm—"

"What day is it?" he said.

"What?"

He didn't—or couldn't—disguise his fear. "The day, man. _The day._ "

"Uh, uh... Saturday! It's Saturday. Why? Steven, what's going o—"

He slammed the phone onto the hook. _Fuck._ They'd gotten to Jackie, too.

1:22 P.M.

Hyde was standing outside William Barnett's mansion, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He'd driven north to Milwaukee, not knowing where else to go. His dad had given him the key little less than a year ago, a sign trust and a symbol of acceptance.

He let himself inside the house, which was as big as the Burkhart Mansion but way cooler. The living room was well-lit and decorated with music posters, little sculptures of African figures, and a tapestry of a baobab tree. Pictures of W.B.'s family also hung on the walls, including his dead wife Eunice, his parents Thomas and Pearl, and Hyde, too.

At the center of the room was a long leather couch, and his sister Angie was sitting on it—swapping spit with someone Hyde didn't recognize. The guy looked decent enough, but Hyde let the front door bang shut, which sent Angie flying to the opposite end of the couch.

"Steven," she said and sat up straight, "I didn't expect to see you."

"Whatever. Is W.B. here?"

She smoothed down her gray top, combed fingers through her mussed hair. "You think I'd be making out in the middle of the living room if he were? No. He's at the country club."

"When's he gonna be back?" Hyde said.

"I don't know. Around dinner time?"

She scooted back next to her make-out guy, who had a 'fro like Hyde's only black. He was dressed like a college preppy—polo shirt and khakis—but his face showed none of the contempt Hyde usually encountered with preppies.

"This is Russel," Angie said, and her voice melted into girly goo. "He's an Engineering major, and his father's a professor of Architecture at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. And, best of all," she snaked her arm around his waist and squeezed, "he's my boyfriend."

Russel's shoulders raised, and his eyes flicked to the floor as if he were embarrassed. Hyde could relate. Jackie used to introduce him to people similarly, but Russel recovered and stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you, uh..."

"Babe, this is my brother," Angie said.

"Oh, right!" Russel grinned, a mixture of amusement and recognition. "Nice to meet you, Steven."

Hyde said nothing but gave Russel's hand a brief shake. He understood the amused reaction; Russel was black, Angie was black—and who the hell expected her to have a bi-racial brother who passed for white? But he wasn't in the mood to give a shit about it right now, and he started for the kitchen.

"Steven, what are you doing here?" Angie called after him. "It's not like you to just show up."

"Just visiting _our_ dad, man," he said.

"Hey," she ran to the hallway and caught his elbow, "is everything okay? You're looking whiter than usual."

He pulled away from her. "I'm fine."

"Did you and Jackie have another fight?"

"Uh... yeah," he said and escaped her questioning stare by fleeing down the hall. Her concern couldn't help him. Only learning the truth would, and he didn't want to involve her. Plus, _they_ might have gotten to her already.

1:27 P.M.

W.B.'s kitchen was at least twice-the-size of Mrs. Forman's, with granite counters and dark cherry cabinets. It took Hyde a moment, but he managed to find some bread and made himself a ham sandwich. Then be grabbed a beer from the fridge and carried his lunch to the pantry.

Sitting at a square, wooden table were Ilsa and Filomena, the live-in cook and the maid. They were playing Gin Rummy and watching a small black-and-white TV. Hyde greeted them with a nod, sat down, and began to eat.

"Mr. Hyde," Ilsa said and put down her cards, "let me make you a proper lunch."

He shook his head. "No, thanks. The sandwich is cool." It was all he had the stomach to eat anyway.

1:43 P.M.

The beer had gone down easily, but the sandwich he crammed into his mouth to keep Ilsa and Filomena from commenting on his sucky appetite. He left them to their card game and climbed the mansion's back stairs to the guest room. The sand-colored walls and abstract paintings of nature weren't his style, but they didn't disturb him—unlike everything else had today. He was exhausted from all the driving and the thinking, and he had to regroup.

He locked the door and lay down on the bed fully-clothed, including his boots. If he needed to bolt, at least he'd be prepared.

6:36 P.M.

A loud knock yanked him from sleep. He sprang from the bed, pressed his back flush against the wall by the door. "Who is it?" he said and slipped on his shades.

"It's W.B. Steven, are you all right?"

With a steadying breath, Hyde unlocked and opened the door. W.B. was standing in front of him, dressed casually in a silk shirt and slacks. It was the first calming sight all day.

"Glad you're here, man," Hyde whispered and pulled him inside. The room could've been bugged, but he shut and locked the door anyway.

W.B. was watching him with a frown. "What's wrong, son? You look terrible."

Hyde moved to the center of the room, as far away from the walls and furniture as possible. "You know how The Man always tries new ways to suppress the masses?"

"Uh-huh..."

"I think they're fucking with me. Don't know why the hell they're doing it..." Hyde lowered his voice even more, "but I freakin' swear I did this day already."

The concern on W.B.'s face deepened, and he stepped closer to Hyde. "What do you mean?"

"Saturday, September 8th." Hyde took off his shades and hooked them on his shirt collar. "I was in Kenosha, man. I... well, it doesn't matter what I did. But I did it, and then I woke up, and it was the eighth again! Same newspaper and everything. And every damn person I ask says it's Saturday."

W.B.'s expression softened. He sat on the bed and rested his hands on his knees. "You know, that happened to me once."

"It did?"

"Oh, yeah. Right around the time I met your mother. I went on a real... it doesn't matter what I did. But, like you, I did it. I woke up in a strange bed the next day, thinking it was Thursday. But it was only Wednesday. And even now—" W.B. was laughing, "I have no idea how the hell that happened, and I can't remember those twelve hours for shit."

Hyde sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly—along with some of his tension. He'd made the right choice in coming here, and he sat down next to W.B. "But how do you explain the paper? All the articles were the same."

W.B smiled at him. "Maybe you're psychic."

Hyde suppressed his own smile. "Come on..."

"If you got as messed up as I'm thinking you did," W.B. said, "then maybe you didn't really read that paper yesterday. Maybe you only _think_ you read that paper yesterday."

"Maybe..."

"Listen, why don't you stay here tonight? You look like you could use a good meal. Then tomorrow—which, according to my calender, should be _Sunday—_ "W.B. arched an eyebrow for emphasis, same as Hyde often did himself, "we can talk about _why_ you did what you did yesterday. Because I'm sure you don't want to talk about it today."

Hyde finally let himself smile. "Yeah, that would a firm 'no'. But maybe tomorrow."

"Good." W.B. clasped Hyde's shoulder and stood from the bed. "Dinner's at seven—and Ilsa's food's been known to knock the sanity right back into a man. "

"Thanks." Hyde let out a small chuckle. "Really... thank you."

7:03 P.M.

After another shower and change of clothes, Hyde joined everyone in the dining room. Ilsa had prepared a meal of beef brisket, mashed potatoes, and collard greens. The hearty smell of it brought back Hyde's appetite, and he ate silently while the others spoke. Evidently, this was W.B.'s and Russel's first meeting, but Hyde only half-listened to the conversation. His thoughts were back in Chicago, in that hotel room.

"Don't you think that would be great, Steven?" Angie said as Hyde cut himself a slice of peach cobbler.

"Sure," he said.

"See, Daddy? He's not even listening." Angie glanced at Hyde scornfully. "I _said_ the Brewers lost their last two games, and we can watch them lose tonight, too. It's called _sarcasm,_ Steven. How would watching our team lose be 'great'?"

Hyde dug into his cobbler and didn't answer. Normally, he and Angie did well talking about baseball. They'd even gone to a few games together, but he couldn't care less right now.

"You need to relax, son," W.B. said, miming a pull from a joint.

"Yeah, I got some stuff in my bag," Hyde said.

W.B. smirked. "I bet my stuff's better."

8:16 P.M.

Hyde's lips were grinning wide. W.B.'s stuff was way better than his.

"You won that bet, man," Hyde said. Then he passed the potent-as-hell joint to Russel. Everyone was sitting on the floor of W.B.'s study, enjoying a circle only the rich or the very lucky got to have.

Laughter exploded from Russel's throat with a cloud of smoke. The preppy was clearly an amateur. "Your family—your family's some cool cats, Ange!"

"Man, you're lucky Angie wasn't in love with anyone before she met you," Hyde said. "Otherwise, the second you turn your back, she'd be nailin' her ex."

"I was in love before," Angie said, prompting Hyde to glare at her. "Well, maybe it doesn't count. We were seven. His name was Darryl Narcisse." She smiled dreamily. "I liked his bike."

Hyde got the joint back from W.B. and took a deep drag. "Long as it wasn't fuckin' Kelso."

"Kelso?" Angie burst into laughter, and it turned into a cough. "K-Kelso?"

Hyde's grin reappeared. At least something was right with the damn world.

11:21 P.M.

The rest of the evening consisted of television in the living room, watching the Milwaukee Brewers lose 2-3 to the California Angels, and munching on potato chips. Even with that five-hour nap, Hyde was tired. He wouldn't make it to _Saturday Night Live,_ so he bid everyone a good night.

"Hold on a sec," W.B. said and followed him upstairs to the guest room. "Tomorrow we'll talk about it, all right? I know Jackie means a lot to you."

"Not anymore. Only thing that matters now is I wake up _tomorrow,_ not today."

W.B. nodded. "I hear ya. Good night, son."

"Night."

Hyde closed the door and locked it, made sure the windows were shut and locked, too. Then he pushed the pine dresser in front of the door. No way was anyone getting into the room tonight without waking him up.

For extra-added security, he checked the closet and underneath the bed. They were clear, which meant it was finally safe to change into his gray sweatpants and white undershirt. It felt nice to be out of his jeans, nice to be at W.B.'s house instead of a cheap motel. The room had a clock radio, but this one was housed in silver metal, not plastic. He set the alarm for 9:00 A.M. and the radio to WFPP, The Sound—all rock, no crap. ABBA would definitely not be his wake-up call tomorrow.

He fluffed the bed's pillows then slid into the sheets. Maybe a full night's sleep was all he needed.

* * *

Hyde awoke with a start.

_"_ __Oh, I've been dreaming through my lonely past."_ _

"No..."

_"_ __Now I just made it. I found you at last."_ _

"No!"

_"_ __So come on. Now let's try it. I love you. Can't deny it 'cause it's true."_ _

"FUCK!" He rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. No longer was he surrounded by the sand-colored walls of W.B.'s guest room but pressed in by the pitted ceiling of the Shooting Star Motel—and that damn ABBA song.

_"_ __I do, I do, I do, I do, I do."_ _

He angled his head slowly to the right. The plastic-encased clock radio was _staring at him,_ and he stared right back as the time turned to 8:01 A.M. **  
**


	3. A Bad Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do” (C) ABBA; 1993 Polydor / Umgd. "Stranglehold" (C) Ted Nugent and 1975, 1993, 1999 Sony Music Entertainment Inc.

CHAPTER 3  
 **A BAD PLAY**

It was the third morning ABBA had yanked Hyde from sleep, the third morning he'd woken in the Shooting Star Motel. He didn't bother to piss or change from his Rolling Stones shirt. He lumbered down to the lobby with the stink of cigarettes and beer on him—and expected to see exactly what he saw: Phyllis standing behind the concierge desk, still in her violet blouse and tortoiseshell hair clips.

"Paper," he grunted at her.

"That's an amenity here at the Shoo—"

"Just give me the damn paper!"

She pulled out a copy of the _Milwaukee Sentinel_ but held it away from him. "You're gonna have to be a lot nicer to me than that, sweet cheeks."

Hyde was through with this bullshit. He snatched the paper from her, and the date sent adrenaline straight into his bloodstream: _September 8_ _th_ _, 1979._

The paper dropped behind him as he hurtled up the staircase to his room. His heartbeat throbbed in his ears, and his hands were shaking, but he grasped the phone and managed to dial W.B.

"Hello?" W.B. said after three long rings.

"It's not tomorrow, man," Hyde shouted. "It's not tomorrow!"

"Steven? Slow down, son. What—"

"It's fucking Saturday! And I'm—how the hell did I get back in Kenosha?"

"You're in Kenosha?"

"Yeah!" Hyde said. "But I fell asleep at your place."

"You did?"

"Yeah, man. Don't you remember? I came by. We had dinner, a circle, and then I..." Hyde stared up at the pockmarked ceiling, but it felt like he was glimpsing his own mind. "Is it Saturday or Sunday?"

"It's Saturday," W.B. said.

The receiver fell from Hyde's hand. He left the motel like a super-charged zombie—no thoughts, just action. He tossed his duffel bag onto the Camino's passenger seat, pressed his foot on the gas, and sped from the parking lot in cloud of burnt rubber. His direction was clear: Southwest, to Point Place.

8:20 A.M.

Hyde clutched the steering wheel and inhaled deeply. On the highway, a quarter-mile down Green Bay Road, traffic was crawling. A midsize Mazda had collided into an S.U.V. The smaller car's front end was completely wrecked, the S.U.V. didn't have a back bumper anymore—and neither car had pulled off to the shoulder, creating a bottleneck.

The cars surrounding Hyde blared their horns, and he leaned out of his side window to get a better view. A scrawny guy like Forman was waving frantically at his smashed Mazda while the S.U.V.'s driver—a short, burly sucker—yelled at him. Hyde shrugged to himself as he inched the Camino down the highway. Guess he wasn't the only one having a bad day.

It took him almost ten minutes to drive fully past the accident, and he heard the scrawny guy shout, "Help me! He doesn't understand! Please, someone..." Any other day, Hyde would've stopped, but he had too many of his own problems to deal with. Midsize Mazda vs. bulky Dodge Ramcharger? Triple-A could handle it.

8:47 A.M.

Hyde parked the Camino a few feet from the Formans' driveway and walked cautiously toward the house. The kitchen's sliding door was partly open, and Red's voice carried through: "I don't see why they need you on a Saturday."

"People get sick on all days of the week," Mrs. Forman said. "Even Saturdays. And _I_ need to go. If you hadn't made—" She cut herself off. "I can't stay in this house with all my babies gone. I can't."

"You've still got me," Red said.

"Yes, and you're my favorite man, and magenta is my favorite color, and tulips are my favorite flower—but none of that will bring Eric back home."

"If I got you a bunch of magenta tulips, would it keep _you_ home today?"

"Red..."

Hyde slid the glass door completely open and stepped inside. Red was in his pajamas, sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and the paper. Mrs. Forman was seated next to him, wearing her nurse's uniform.

"Steven?" she said. Her eyes were were wet with uncried tears, and she sprang up from her chair. "Steven!"

She wrapped Hyde in a hug, and he patted her back absently. "Hey, Mrs. Forman."

"Red, Steven's home! Oh—" she released Hyde from her arms, "and I've got to go... And _you,_ " she kissed him on the cheek, but her warmth gave him no comfort, "I want to hear all about your trip to Chicago when I get back from the hospital." A laugh rolled out of her, and she pinched the collar of his shirt. "It smells like you had a rough time."

"Uh-huh," he said automatically.

She turned to Red. "I'll stop off at the Piggly Wiggly on my way home, 'kay?" She kissed him on the forehead tenderly and left through the sliding door.

Hyde dropped onto her vacated chair like a sack of pennies. Of all people, Mrs. Forman was someone he trusted. But now he felt as separated from her as if she'd gone to Africa with Forman.

"Welcome back, son," Red said. "Your timing couldn't be better—probably raised Kitty's mood from bleak-and-miserable to might-actually-cook-dinner." He smiled and sipped his coffee. Then he picked up his September 8th _Milwaukee Sentinel._

Hyde said nothing. The date on the paper drove his gaze straight to the kitchen calendar, the fabric one nailed to the swinging door. Mrs. Forman never marked the days, but September 7th had a huge black X through it. She must have done that when Forman bought his airplane ticket.

"Carter, that panty-waste," Red said, and he slapped the paper with the back of his hand. "I don't wanna pay almost a Goddamn dollar for a gallon of gas."

The calendar held no answers, and Hyde quit staring at it. "Hey, Red... can I talk to you for a second?"

"You've just talked to me longer than a second."

"Yeah..." He scratched the back of his neck, unsure of how to say what he needed to say. But he forced himself to look Red in the face and talk. "What would you do if you woke up and the day was the same? I mean, the same-same. Like you woke up tomorrow, and it was Saturday again, and you had to live the same day over?"

Red smirked. "Steven, every day _is_ the same, whether it's Saturday, Monday, or Thursday. I wake up, I deal with dumbasses, I go to sleep."

"I'm serious," Hyde said.

"So am I," Red said, but his eyes were still focused on the paper. "Take today, for instance. Soon I'll get into my uniform and go to the muffler shop. Some guy'll come in talking about baffles. Then he'll make the joke, 'I'm baffled if I know how my baffles wore down.' I won't laugh because I've heard it a hundred times, and he'll try to get _me_ to laugh by repeating the joke—and I'll wanna kick him in the ass. Only I won't because I want his money more."

Again, Hyde said nothing, but he took out his wallet and opened it. The small photo of Jackie was no longer inside. He'd removed a few days ago after reading her "I-Left-for-Chicago" letter.

"Damn it," Red glanced over at him and frowned, "you _are_ serious. Did you and the loud one have another fight? Is that why you smell like an ashtray full of beer?"

"Yeah—" Hyde's stomach tensed; he hadn't meant to say that. He shut the wallet and stuffed it back into his pocket. "No. Uh... I don't—"

Red sighed, and the paper rustled as he lowered it to the table. "For God's sake, I just got rid of Eric yesterday. Now I gotta deal with you being all twitchy?"

"Never mind." Hyde stood up. Then he shouldered his duffel bag and headed for the basement stairs.

"Glad I could help you out, son," Red said behind him.

9:06 A.M.

A commercial for the Barbie"Star Traveler" motorhome was playing on the basement television. Hyde could hear it from the top of the stairs, and he spotted the back of Donna's blonde head as he climbed down. She was sitting on the couch, but he couldn't tell if she were awake. Her posture was stock-still—until he hit the the sixth stair. It creaked, like always, and she turned around.

"Hyde?" Her face lit up as he reached the bottom of the staircase. "Oh, my God, you're here!"

"Yup." He dropped his duffel bag by his chair and sat down with crossed arms. The basement looked and smelled the same as the day Eric left for Africa—Stupid Helmet on the shelf, deck of cards on the table, and the scent of incense mixed with weed. Man, nothing was different... but maybe that was what _they_ wanted him to think.

"What happened in Chicago?" Donna said.

"I woke up."

"Come on, you gotta give me more than that." She scooted to the corner of the couch closest to him but quickly scooted back. "How bad was it?"

He shifted his weight on the chair. "Oh, it was super."

"Doesn't smell like it," she said. "You stink like Kooky Karl, the bum who used to beg outside the Piggly Wiggly."

"Thanks." An ad for Sugar Crisp Cereal started up on the TV, and Hyde watched it silently. But when it ended, he muttered, "She was with Kelso."

"What do you mean 'with' Kelso?"

"I mean _with Kelso,_ man. He was naked, and she wasn't far behind, and they were about to..." His shoulders slumped. It was pointless to talk about something he couldn't fuckin' change. "Whatever."

"What?" She blinked and shook her head. "I don't believe it."

"Believe what you want. That's a helluva lot easier to swallow than what I'm dealing with right now."

Donna's already puzzled expression deepened. "Isn't _Jackie-and-Kelso_ what you're dealing with?"

"Nope."

"Then what's goi—" She interrupted herself with a gasp. "Did that nurse you cheated with get pregnant? And now she's coming after you for child support?"

Hyde screwed up his face. "No way."

"Well, what then?"

"If you don't believe Jackie could nail Kelso, you sure as fuck won't believe this."

"Try me," she said. "I need the distraction... badly."

'Cause of Forman?"

Donna frowned and let her gaze drop to the floor. "Yeah, turns out I'm not okay with him being gone. _At all._ But whatever." She looked back up at him. "So what's the mystery?"

A loud _thoom! b_ lasted out of the TV's speaker and drew Hyde's attention. A _Road Runner_ cartoon was playing. Wile. E. Coyote wanted to toss a grenade at the Road Runner, but he chucked the key at him instead. A second later, the grenade blew up in Wile E.'s hand.

"After I found Jackie and Kelso," Hyde said, "I drove to Kenosha..."

He told Donna the tale of waking up three times on Saturday, September 8th, 1979—of waking up in the Shooting Star Motel, despite that he'd fallen asleep at W.B.'s last night in Milwaukee.

"What?" She was laughing. "How much did you smoke last night?"

"Not enough to make me that delusional, man. I don't know what the hell's going on."

She touched the back of her hand to his forehead. "You're not hot..."

"Yeah, I am." He pushed her arm away. "But I'm not sick... 'least, not that way."

He returned his attention to the cartoon. Wile E. Coyote had a kite strapped to his back and raced to the edge of cliff. A bomb was in his hands, and he jumped in the air, trying to get enough lift to fly. It didn't happen. He plunged off the cliff instead, plummeted to the ground, and the bomb blew up in his own face.

Donna chuckled. "Kelso is _so_ Wile E. Coyote—crap." She covered her mouth.

"You can say his name around me," Hyde said. "I'm not some fragile duck like Forman—" He clapped a hand over his mouth and pitched-up his voice to mock her. "Oops. I said, 'Forman'."

She threw a couch cushion at him. "Don't be a dillhole."

On the TV, Wile E. Coyote made attempt-after-attempt to defeat the Road Runner. Normally, Hyde rooted for the bird, but today he felt bad for the coyote. Wile E.'s torture—'cause it really was torture, man—only ended once he loaded a canyon with a bunch of TNT.

Wile E. tried to lure the Road Runner into his trap—but got trapped himself by a truck. The only way out of the canyon was a door rigged to set off the explosives. Wile E. opened the freakin' door, and all the TNT detonated, blasting him full-force. Then, to add more insult to injury, the truck drove over his blackened body.

Hyde snickered. "Man, he really _is_ Kelso."

"Yeah..."

Donna laughed with him, and he began to relax. His arms unfolded, his hands eased onto his knees... "Y'know, this is the best I've felt in three days," he said.

"Hyde, it's—" she leaned over the couch's armrest and checked his watch, "9:14. Wow. You've stuck with that story for, like, ten minutes. "

"It's the truth, ma—"

The basement door slammed open, and Jackie's shrill, worried voice rang through the air. "Steven?" Ste—Oh, my God..." She hurried to him, threw her arms around his neck, and plunked down on his lap.

His own arms reflexively closed around her, and his cheek became damp from her tears. "Jackie—"

"Nothing happened, okay?" She drew back enough that he could see her crying face. "Nothing."

"Yeah," he said and lowered his arms. "Only because I showed up before it did."

"We weren't going to do anything. Michael was just being an idiot."

"Whatever." He stood up, shoving Jackie off his lap in the process. But she didn't fall to the floor; she caught herself on couch's armrest.

"Steven—"

Her voice disgusted him, and her eyes sickened him—'cause they still made him feel like comforting her. "Kelso shouldn't have been in your damn room in the first place," he said. "But he _was_ and he was fucking naked, and you were trying to get me outta there for—" He clamped his jaw shut and walked past her. He wasn't gonna do this, give her the satisfaction of knowing she'd affected him.

Jackie grabbed his wrist. "No, don't. Don't shut down. Please, I don't care what you say as long as you say _something_." He stiffened at her touch, at the pleading desperation in her throat. "I was alone," she said. "Baby, I was alone, and I thought I lost you."

He remained silent, unmoving.

"Hyde," Donna said from the couch, "say something."

_Damn._ This was why he hated having an audience. It never minded its own business.

"Steven, at least look at me. _Please._ "

Hyde's fists clenched. Jackie's eyes were wide with terror and wet with unspilled tears, and all he wanted to do was make the expression burn away. He knew of two surefire ways to do that: One would screw him; the other, set him free.

He relaxed his hands and gave Jackie a small smile. She responded by sliding her fingers over his palm and grasping it.

"I fucked a stripper," he said.

Jackie flinched. "What?"

"Yeah." He squeezed her hand and widened his smile. "She blew me a few hours before that—and it was the best damn head I've ever gotten." She tried to twist free of him, but he tightened his hold. "Came so freakin' hard I didn't know what day it was. Still don't."

"Steven!" Her eyes were no longer filled with fear but with rage. She kicked his shin harder than he'd ever felt, and his fingers sprang open.

"Damn it—" He bent over and rubbed his leg as Jackie's footsteps clacked on the basement floor. They were followed by a _slam!_

Donna patted his shoulder. "Good job, Hyde."

"You think?" He straightened up once his leg quit throbbing. Then he dropped onto the couch and sank into its cushions.

"Uh, yeah!" she said and sat next to him. "You'll be lucky if she ever talks to you again."

"I'll be lucky if she _never_ talks to me again," he said. He crossed his arms and focused on the TV. Bugs Bunny was running away from Elmer Fudd and his shotgun.

Donna sighed heavily. "You know, sometimes I wish I could do that to Eric."

"Do what?"

"Lie. Tell him I'm fucking some guy while he's off teaching elephants how to read. I'm just—I'm just so mad at him for leaving. He does all these things, makes these decisions without me... that _affect_ me."

"I wasn't lying."

"Hyde, come on..."

"It's all true, man. Happened two days ago."

"You were _here_ two days ago," she said.

He turned toward her. "No, it was Saturday two days ago. It was Saturday yesterday. And it's Saturday today."

"Well..." She was grinning.

"What?"

"Hypothetically, if what you say is true—"

He almost growled. "It is."

"—and you're reliving today, then what you did with that stripper doesn't count."

"How do you figure?"

"It's a do-over," she said. "Like when we're shooting hoops and there's a bad play. The first play doesn't count."

"Sure..." He turned back to the television to keep from scoffing. The idea was stupid, Kelso-stupid...

But as he thought about it, the idea lost its stupidity. If Donna was right, he could get away with shit he'd only imagined. He'd wake up the next day and be in the free and clear.

He arched an eyebrow. _Fuck,_ man... Maybe this wasn't such a bad deal after all.

"Okay, say you were me," he said, "what would you do?"

Donna picked up the cards from the spool table and began to shuffle. "All sorts of things. Like call Red a dumbass or play all women's protest songs during my radio show."

"Lame." Hyde pushed himself off the couch and went toward the door.

"Hey, where are you going?" she called after him.

"Out. See ya later."

9:37 AM

Jackie's muffled cries reached Hyde once he made it to the Formans' backyard. She was standing beyond the white picket fence with Kelso, sobbing into his chest. One of Kelso's hands rested on the small of her back, and the other stroked her hair—and Hyde suppressed every impulse to pound him into the dirt.

But Kelso was just being true to himself by pawing at her, and Jackie was just being true to herself by seeking him out. They fuckin' deserved each other, man, and Hyde walked past them, hoping to go unnoticed

"Hyde," Kelso said, "nothing ha—"

"Save it." Hyde pulled out the keys to the Camino and hightailed it to the driveway.

He didn't unlock the car door fast enough. Jackie was already at his back, tugging on his arm. "Steven—"

He pulled from her grasp and slid into the driver's seat, but she stuck her damn head and shoulders inside the car. He was tempted just to start driving.

"I know you're lying," she said.

"I'm not." He stared out the windshield at some trees. "Unlike you."

"There is no way you had time for all of... _those_ things."

"You'd be surprised."

"No. It's at least an hour-and-a-half drive from Chicago to Wisconsin. It was already late at night when you found me at the hotel, and where would you have slept with that slut? At the strip club?"

"Whatever, Jackie." He stuck the Camino's key into the ignition.

"And—and... you would never do that, Steven. I don't care how angry you are. You'd never do that to me, not again."

"Yeah..." He ripped off his shades and scowled at her. "Just like you swore you wouldn't push that marriage-crap on me again. Just like you Goddamn swore you never wanted to nail Kelso again."

"But—"

Hyde pressed his hand into Jackie's chest and shoved her away. She stumbled backward from his car as he shut the door.

"Steven!"

He stomped on the gas and gunned it out of the neighborhood, not caring about the direction as long as it it was away from her.

10:18 A.M.

He ended up at Grooves.

The "closed" sign hung on the door, and he kept it there. The store was supposed to be open by now, but he'd left Leo in charge. His old friend would probably walk in a few hours later, having no clue what time it was—

Or he'd be sleeping on the floor of Hyde's office, just like he was doing.

Leo was curled up under Hyde's suit jacket, the one Hyde always left on his desk chair. And his head lay on his own vest, balled up into a makeshift pillow.

Hyde should've been surprised to see him like that, but he wasn't surprised at all. He flipped on the lights and shouted Leo's name.

"Where is he, man?" Leo said and jolted to his feet. "Oh, wait. That's me."

"It sure is," Hyde said. "What're you doing here?"

"You told me to watch the store, man. Did you tell Loud Girl you love her?"

"What?"

"You went to Chicago 'cause you were mopin' around here. Man, you can't remember anything."

"Right." Hyde sat on the tattered loveseat he'd brought in a long time ago and patted the cushions. "Why didn't you sleep on this?"

"Oh, that's a good question, man," Leo said; then he sat beside him. "Guess I just didn't think of it."

Hyde nodded. Acid had wrecked Leo's memory, maybe even changed his personality. He was the second reason Hyde had never tried anything harder than weed, the first being his aunt Phyllis. She was a nutjob thanks to her habit—or maybe just more of one—and he didn't need that shit. But if Donna's theory about this do-over stuff were true...

"Leo," Hyde said, "you got any tabs on ya?"

"I don't drink Tab, man. Gives me bad poo."

"No, man. _Acid._ "

Leo's expression darkened. "Oh, I quit dropping years ago, 'round the same time I stopped drinking beer." Then he smiled cheerfully. "But I know where you can get some."

"Cool."

11:12 A.M.

The tabs they'd gotten from Leo's connection were wrapped in a baggie and stashed in Leo's denim jacket. Certain "requirements" had to be filled before Leo would let Hyde trip. First, Hyde ate some pizza from the place across from Grooves 'cause "you're not gonna want to eat later, man." Second, they drove to Leo's apartment because "someone has to watch you, man." Third, Hyde tuned Leo's radio to WFPP because "you'll see the music, man."

Now Hyde was lying down on Leo's couch with a pillow beneath his head. He faced a wall Leo's cousin had painted with Pollock-inspired spatters, and it looked like a bunch of scarlet trees draped by strands of rubies.

Leo turned up the room's sole floor lamp, brightening the wall. Then he sat in an armchair beside the couch. "Are you in a good mental state?" he said. "'Cause bad moods make for bad trips, man."

"As good as ever, man," Hyde said.

Leo handed him one tab, "That's all you get," and sounded more lucid than Hyde had ever heard him.

"See ya on the other side, Leo." He stuck the tab under his tongue as the opening riff of Ted Nugent's "Stranglehold" came through the radio. Nothing happened at first, and then the Nuge began to sing: _"Here I come again now, baby, like a dog in heat..."_

Tiny cracks appeared in the painted wall and traveled along the ceiling. They reached Hyde on the couch but didn't pierce him; they didn't have to. Different shades of red gushed from the cracks, washing the room in viscous color and coating Hyde's skin. The deepest red oozed up his chin, between his lips to his tongue, and tasted like rotting chili peppers.

"The only happiness you have is making me miserable," Ted Nugent sang, straight into Hyde's skull. "You make me miserable, make me miserable..." But that wasn't how the song went, and the voice didn't sound like the Nuge's. It sounded like a chick's.

"You gotta make her miserable, man. Make her miserable..." The voice had grown deeper and sounded like a man's again. Not the Nuge's. More familiar than that. "The only way out is misery..."

Hyde tried to move, but the red wouldn't let him. It wasn't just a color, man. It was an _entity_ in collusion with his body—the enemy. His organs were holding him hostage, and his heart was the ringleader. With every beat of it, a vein broke free of his skin until they all were outside of his body. They snaked across his chest, coiled around his wrists and throat. Tighter and tighter, crushing him out of existence.. _._

"Stop—" Ted Nugent sang. No, it was that other guy who sang it, the one who was singing about misery. "Why the fuck won't anyone stop her?"

Leo's melting face burst through the red. "Man man man, man," he said, and the color green flowed from his mouth to Hyde's. "Man, man man man man, man..."

Hyde sucked the green into his lungs, and his veins shot back inside him. He understood now: A joint was pressed to his lips. Leo was holding it there. Hyde took another hit, and the red melted back into the cracks.

He peered over at his watch when he could finally move. The minute hand, second hand, and numbers all inflated like balloons and floated to the ceiling. Some of the numbers popped with a loud bang, but he took a long drag on the joint, causing the other numbers to arrange themselves into a time—8:13, 8:14, 8:15...

"Morning or night?" he said once the numbers finally sank back to his watch. It was 8:52, and he'd started to come down.

"It's night, man," Leo said. His face no longer resembled melted wax.

The trip had lasted ten hours, but it seemed like only ten minutes. Hyde sat up and grasped the joint with his own fingers. Smoking seemed to clear his mind faster, and by 10:00 P.M., he was on his feet and walking to Leo's kitchen.

It was like moving through molasses. His arms were anchors, and the effort to get a bag of pretzels exhausted him more than he already was. But Leo must have seen him struggling—'cause he got him a glass of water and helped him back to the couch.

"Thanks," Hyde said. He began to eat the pretzels and drank some water. "Uh... did I do anything weird? 'Cause I can't remember much."

"When I woke up, you were scratching at your arms and neck," Leo said. "It kinda freaked me out, man. You kept going on about the end. Sounded like you were hiccuping. 'End, uh... End, uh...' "

"Sorry." Hyde let the empty pretzel bag slip to the floor and glanced at his arms. They were scraped up with fresh, red scabs. The skin of his neck burned a little, too, and must have looked the same.

"Think you had a bad trip, man," Leo said and took the glass of water from him. "How do you feel?"

"Like shit."

Leo pointed past the kitchen. "Bathroom's over there."

"No... Can't drive home." Hyde lay back on the couch and shut his eyes. Something soft covered him soon after. It was a blanket.

"Hope your night's better than your day, man," Leo said and clapped Hyde on the shoulder. "If you need me, I'll be asleep." Then he disappeared into his bedroom.

Hyde closed his eyes again. But the ticking of his watch poked his brain.

_Tick, tick, tick..._

He took off the watch and stared at the time. 10:23 P.M. _Tick, tick, tick..._ 10:55 P.M. _Tick, tick, tick..._ 11:33 P.M. Maybe sleeping was the wrong idea. _Tick, tick, tick..._

He went to the kitchen and made some coffee, drank cup after cup of it, listened to the radio. By 12:48 A.M., his stomach rebelled. He raced to Leo's bathroom and puked into the toilet.

Man, his whole body ached... and his mind was the same. He remained huddled over the toilet for almost an hour then shuffled back to the couch. He lay down on it with his hands laced over his belly. His eyes drifted closed, and Jackie was behind them, wearing a scarlet dress and smelling of rotten chili. She caressed his face, ran a thumb over his lips. Then her fists rammed themselves inside his throat, choking him.

His eyes snapped open. It was residue from the trip, had to be. He grabbed his watch from the floor.

5:10 A.M.

Technically, it was Sunday and a few hours from sunrise. Maybe _they_ were finally done with him and had moved onto someone else. He wanted to see what would happen once it was eight in the morning, so adjusted his position on the couch to stay awake—but he felt too sick. He made it only a few minutes more before sleep took him again.


	4. From This Day Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do” (C) ABBA; 1993 Polydor / Umgd.

CHAPTER 4  
 **FROM THIS DAY FORWARD**

The saccharine voices of Agnetha Fältskog and Frida Lyngstad woke Hyde up—for the fourth morning in a row. Last he remembered, he was slumped on Leo's couch and feeling sick as a mangled dog. But now he lay on the Shooting Star Motel's sagging bed, and his stomach didn't hurt. His arms weren't scratched up anymore, and his mind... Hell, in comparison to last night, he felt great.

_"_ _ _Oh, no hard feelings between you and me,"__ Agnetha and Frida sang, _"_ _ _if we can't make it, but just wait and see."__

"'No hard feelings' my ass," Hyde said and shut off the radio alarm. It was 8:01 A.M.

He went down to the lobby after a shower, brought his duffel bag with him. Phyllis was behind the concierge desk as always, wearing her violet blouse and chipped tortoiseshell barrettes.

"Hey, toots," he said to her, "you got the paper?"

"That's an amenity here at the Shooting Star Motel, sweet cheeks." She handed him the paper, and once again, her grin showed off her missing molar. "So am I." .

He smiled back. "I bet a trucker'll take you up on that one day."

"Who says they haven't already, hot stuff?"

"Chick's got some tricks, huh?"

"Oh, more than just some," she said. She was leaning forward on the desk, her plump cleavage practically spilling from her blouse. ""I get off at three... You can, too."

"If I ever become a trucker," he tapped her greasy chin with a knuckle, "maybe I'll take you up on it."

8:17 A.M.

Hyde was outside in the motel's parking lot, standing against the Camino and studying the front page of the _Milwaukee Sentinel._ The date read, "Saturday Morning, September 8th, 1979," and the headlines were still the same, but none of that bothered him too much right now. "Yesterday" had taught him some valuable things.

First, acid was off the menu. He liked to tune out and have a freakin' laugh, not "get in touch". Especially since what he had to get in touch with was pretty nasty. Maybe it worked for other people, but tripping wasn't his deal.

Second, if all this day-repeating was being perpetrated by The Man, it probably wouldn't end until _they_ wanted it to.

Third—and best—Donna had been right "yesterday". Nothing he did seemed to count. So he was gonna do whatever the hell he wanted.

A strong gust of wind whipped the paper from his hand, and it flew across the parking lot. Other than some sharp breezes, the September 8th weather was decent—clear blue sky with white wisps, like the sun had sparked up a joint. It was strange seeing the same cloud patterns four days in a row, but it could've been worse. It could've been raining.

With his duffel bag locked safely inside the Camino, he walked briskly to the street. If all went as planned, he'd be on the road in a few hours, bringing home a nice surprise.

8:56 A.M.

The door to Sam's apartment opened wide as Hyde approached it. Sam was standing there, smiling brightly in the flickering lights of the hallway, but he stepped toward her before she had a chance to speak. His hands slid over her the sides of her face and drew her to his lips, and she responded to his shallow kiss with a soft, astonished gasp. The sound encouraged him. He caressed the back of her short hair and gently deepened the movement of his mouth, causing a moan to issue from her throat.

"Wow. I mean... _wow,_ " she said after they parted. Her eyes were round with pleased shock, and her hand lingered on his shoulder. "I almost never let guys kiss me anymore, but..."

She kissed him again, the way she had that first September 8th night. Her arms crept around his waist and guided him into the apartment, and the scent of cigarettes shot into his nose. Her _s_ tripper-friends were seated at the table, still working on their outfits, but Sam didn't release him yet. She plunged her tongue deep inside his mouth, and his own tongue countered the move enthusiastically.

" _Ooh,_ look at that boy go!" one of the strippers shouted, prompting Sam to pull away.

"Hyde... no one's..." Sam voice was almost a whisper. "No one kisses me like this."

"Then whoever's been kissing you is a dick."

Their stripper-audience seemed to like his answer because they put their hands over their hearts and collectively let out an _"Aww..."  
_  
The sentimentality raised his hackles. Any other day, he would've told them to "Get bent," but his plan was time-sensitive, and pissing off Sam's pals wouldn't speed things up.

"Do you want coffee?" Sam said. She smoothed down the front of his Che Guevara shirt. "Anything to eat?"

One of the strippers waved from the table. "Or me!"

Sam giggled and wrapped her arms around Hyde's hips possessively. "Hands off, girls. This one's mine." Then she lowered her voice, as if she didn't want the strippers to hear. "I've got some frozen waffles I can toast up."

"I already had breakfast, but—" he took off his shades and looked deep into her eyes, "there _is_ something I want."

The strippers hollered and whistled, but Sam remained silent. Her legs buckled a little, her hand slipped into his palm, and she led him into her bedroom.

10:03 A.M.

Hyde had just wanted to fuck, but he forced himself to be as tender as possible with her. Sam came loudly and more than once, and his own climax had nothing to do with Jackie.

That was good enough for him.

He made out with her for a short while afterward, to demonstrate his capacity for devotion, and it seemed to work. She settled onto his chest and sighed. "I could marry a guy like you."

"Yeah? Well, I'd dig marrying a chick like you."

She sprang up and faced him. "Really?"

"Yup." He grasped her left hand, "Sam..." and held his eyeball ring at the tip of her ring finger, "you wanna get hitched? Like, today?"

"Sure!" she said without hesitation, and Hyde grinned. This was it, man. His goal was within reach.

He slid his ring onto her finger. "I gotta hit a bank."

10:37 A.M.

They found a branch of Bellwether Bank a half-mile from Sam's apartment building. Hyde didn't own a credit card 'cause he didn't want Big Brother spying on his purchases. He didn't write checks, either, for the same reason. His dough used to be stashed behind a loose brick in his room, but that stopped once he became the manager of Grooves—and got too much money to stash. So he'd started to use the savings account Red opened for him years ago.

Red had chosen the bank well. Unlike most, it was open on Saturday mornings.

Sam watched silently as Hyde withdrew a thousand bucks. Money wasn't too much of an issue for him anymore. The record store paid him well, the rent he slipped into Formans' wallets every week had to be minimal so they wouldn't notice—and the thousand bucks would be back in his account tomorrow anyway. But if not, this burn was totally worth it.

He took Sam's hand as they left the bank. She was wearing an off-the shoulder shirt and a pair of tight jeans. Though she was too thin for him, especially with that big rack of hers, she looked damn good. Her body broadcasted "stripper," which was exactly what he wanted.

Two minutes later, they were at a payphone outside. He'd dialed up the operator, asking for chapels in the Kenosha area. But Sam tapped his shoulder and said, "I know where one is. "

He hung up the phone. He was liking this girl more and more.

11:02 A.M.

Hyde parked the Camino in front of the Death Do Us Part Wedding Chapel. Painted on the front of the building were a cartoon bride and groom, and hecouldn't help but smirk at the tackiness. He expected more of the same when he and Sam entered the place—but the inside was nothing like the outside. Just a front desk, wood-paneled walls, and a few wire chairs. Looked kind of like a doctor's waiting room.

A woman was standing behind the desk. Her dark gray hair was pulled into a tight bun, a stiff suit jacket covered her top-half, but she had a soft expression. "Welcome to the Death Do Us Part Wedding Chapel," she said. The name tag on her lapel identified her as Margaret. "How can I help you two lovebirds?"

Sam laughed her peppery laugh, and Hyde said, "We wanna get married... as soon as freakin' possible." It was already after eleven o 'clock, and they needed to get back to Point Place before he missed his chance.

"Congratulations, sir," Margaret said. "Do you have your wedding license?"

"Uh..." He glanced at Sam for help, but she shrugged.

Margaret pulled out a card and handed it to him. "Just go to the Country Clerk. It'll take about five days for them to get it to you and cost twenty dollars. You'll both need your birth certificates, social security numbers, _valid_ state IDs..." She smiled broadly. "Then come back here, and we'll get you two married."

"No, I don't have five days," he said. "I need to get married now."

"I'm sorry, sir. It's just not—"

Hyde tapped the desk. "Okay, how about this? We do the ceremony. You take a bunch of Polaroids, and we get the license after?"

"Well, that's not the way we normally do things..." Margaret pulled out a pen, "but it's been done before. You'll have to bring the license here once you've received it so Gary—the officiator—and Murray, the witness, can sign it. We'll also need to be _paid_ now, however."

"Sure, whatever."

"It'll be $300-total for bridal gown and groom tux, the ceremony itself, and the pictures." Margaret peered over the desk at Sam and gestured. "Let me see your hand, young lady." Sam did, and Margaret's brow wrinkled. "Is this... _eyeball_ your engagement ring?"

"I guess so," Sam said cheerfully. Man, she was the exact opposite of Jackie—uncomplicated. Hyde's grin returned. He couldn't have found a more perfect chick.

Margaret glared at Hyde and pointed the pen at him. "You need to get this woman a proper engagement ring. Fortunately for you, we have a lovely selection."

She pulled a cherrywood jewelry box from behind the desk and opened the lid. Inside were a variety of rings, all with different-sized diamonds. One ring in particular, with a fat diamond sandwiched between two sapphires, caught his eye.

"How much is that one?" he said, indicating the ring he wanted.

"Four-hundred-and-fifty dollars," Margaret said.

"Cool. We'll take it."

Sam gasped beside him. "Oh, my God—Hyde, really?"

Her excitement pinched his heart with guilt. He was using this girl, but she wouldn't remember any of it tomorrow. And she seemed to be enjoying the trip today, so... no harm, no foul.

"Anything for my chick," he said and put his arm around her shoulders. Then he shifted his attention back to Margaret. "What about wedding rings? We don't have those either."

Margaret brought out another box, and inside were gold and silver wedding bands.

"You pick," he told Sam, which was a mistake because she spent the next six minutes deciding.

$950 later, they were finally on their way. Hyde took back his eyeball ring and slipped the diamond-sapphire number onto Sam's finger. She squealed and clapped in delight, something Jackie might have done.

11:16 A.M.

Margaret opened a door in the wall behind the desk. The door was disguised as a wood panel, and Hyde hadn't even noticed it. Clearly, he wasn't meant to.

Sam held his hand, and they walked into the wedding hall together. Now _this_ was what he'd expected out of a chapel, man: White fluffy carpet running up the length of it, chairs draped in white cloth, an altar covered in flowers.

Two older guys, both with thinning gray hair, were seated and chatting it up. They stood when Margaret cleared her throat. "Gary, Murray, we've got a wedding to perform," she said.

Behind two more hidden doors were private dressing rooms. Margaret gave Hyde and Sam their wedding costumes—'cause that was what he considered them, _costumes—_ and they met each other on the altar, dressed like a groom and his bride.

The ceremony moved swiftly. They listened to Gary spout a bunch of mumbo-jumbo about ever-lasting love, recited vows that meant nothing to Hyde, and were pronounced "Man and Wife". Hyde made sure to kiss Sam as deeply as possible for the camera. Margaret was diligent with the thing, snapping a Polaroid every few seconds.

The pictures were developed by the time he and Sam changed back into their clothes. He gathered them up from a flower-adorned table and pulled Sam back into the receptionist area.

"Remember to bring your license back here," Margaret said, "or this wedding isn't valid."

"Not gonna be a problem," Hyde said. He ushered Sam out the chapel's front door and into the Camino.  
She was looking through their wedding pictures as he started up the engine. "I'll have to call my mom," she said and held up the Polaroid of them kissing each other. The image was reflected in the rearview mirror.

"Don't worry about that right now, okay?" He removed his right hand from the steering wheel and cupped her knee. "Or the license. We'll take care of it. I wanna get you home, show you off to my, uh... family. We'll go back to your apartment, get your stuff, and deal with the other crap later."

"Okay," she said simply. "I trust you."

Her answer made him chuckle. She wasn't complicated at all, and for the twenty-five minutes it took to drive from Kenosha to Point Place, he told her about where he lived, where he worked, and how exactly he wanted to introduce her. She seemed to have no problem with any of it, just happy to be taken from her old life.

12:48 P.M.

Hyde pulled into the Formans' driveway and slid on his shades. Then he and Sam got out of the Camino. He was jacked up with anticipation. This was gonna be some good shit, man; best burn he'd ever accomplished. He peered into the kitchen through the sliding door. No one was inside.

"If I haven't come out to get you in one minute," he said and fastened his watch on her wrist, "go through this door here and across the kitchen. Living room's behind the white door, and that's where I'll be."

She nodded, and he gave her a quick peck on the mouth. It was so damn easy with her.

He went into the kitchen himself and walked to the living room—and the sight that met him couldn't have been any better. Donna was consoling a crying Jackie on the couch. Fez was sitting in Red's chair, and Kelso was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey," Hyde said softly.

Jackie's tear-streaked face popped up from Donna's shoulder. "Steven?"

He sat down next to her, and giddiness sparked in his chest. He snuffed it out. "What's up?" he said.

"Steven," she took his hand, and he didn't stop her, "I am so sorry about what happened in Chicago. I was alone and I thought I lost you."

"Yeah... well, I can see why you thought that." He kept his voice neutral, suppressed the laughter in his stomach. But, man, did he want to crack up—straight into her fuckin' lying face.

Jackie's eyes widened. "Why didn't you tell me sooner you wanted to get married?"

"Because I wasn't sure I wanted to," he said. "And now that I've thought about it, I'm right: I'm not ready to be married yet."

"Yet?" Her face brightened. "Oh... okay."

She squeezed his hand tighter, and right on cue—he couldn't have timed it more perfectly—the door from the kitchen swung open. Sam walked in, clutching their wedding pictures in one hand.

Hyde stood from the couch, but Jackie hadn't let go of hm.

"Hyde! Hey, baby!" Sam said and smiled warmly. "Wow, this place is nice."

"Ooh, pretty!" Fez said. He mimed the shape and size of her chest. "Very pretty!"

Jackie's grip on Hyde loosened. "Who the hell is that?" .

He shook Jackie's fingers from his hand and slipped his arm around Sam's waist. "This is Sam. She's a str—exotic dancer I met in Kenosha."

Jackie was standing now and staring at Sam's left hand.

"Yeah..." Hyde grinned, maybe wider than he ever had. Then he touched Jackie's shoulder, and she looked up at hm. "We got married today."

"Wha—what?"

Sam shoved her left hand in Jackie's face. "Check out the ring he got me!"

"Hyde, what did you do?" Donna said.

"Sapphires?" Jackie said. Her features were shot through with pain, and Hyde relished every second of it. "That's—that's my birthstone."

He shrugged. "Wanna see the wedding pictures?" He took the Polaroids from Sam and pushed them at Jackie's chest.

She grabbed the Polaroids with shaking hands and flipped through them. "Oh, my God!" _Flip... flip..._ "You're wearing a..." _Flip, flip, flip..._ "How could you do this?"

Donna was looking at the pictures over Jackie's shoulder. "Hyde, how _could_ you do this?"

He didn't answer, and Sam frowned for the first time since he'd met her. "Baby, they don't seem happy about us," she said.

"I am," Fez said. He stepped in front of her. "Will you give me a lap dance?"

Hyde punched Fez in the arm, but he didn't give a shit if she gave Fez a lap dance—or anything else. Defending Sam's honor was mostly just a show for Jackie.

"Wow, you really are married," Donna said. The Polaroids were now in her hands.

"No," Jackie said. "I don't—I don't believe it. You set all this up just to hurt me."

Hyde glared at her. "Man, everything's always gotta be about you, huh?" Then he plunked onto the couch and brought Sam into his lap.

"Donna, Fez, would you please leave us alone?" Jackie said.

"Uh... sure," Donna said. She left the pictures on Red's chair and dragged Fez into the kitchen.

"Steven, could your 'wife' leave, too?" Jackie's tone was abrasive but held no rage.

"Yeah... no." He stroked Sam's arm, played with her fingers. She was being so freakin' docile, not questioning a thing. "Whatever you got to say to me, you can say in front of her."

"Fine," Jackie said. "Where's your marriage license?"

"On its way," Sam said helpfully.

"Uh-huh..." Jackie crossed her arms. "Marriage licenses take at least five days to process in Wisconsin."

"How the hell do you know that?" Hyde said. His resolve was starting to waver. This wasn't how things were supposed to go down, man. Jackie was supposed to be freaking out, not controlling her voice and confronting him.

"I know _everything_ about how getting married works, Steven. _D'uh._ You would've needed your birth certificate, too—and I highly doubt you had it with you in Chicago. So what exactly is this..." her finger traced a circle around himself and Sam, " _really_ about?"

He began to answer, but she continued. "No, _I'll_ tell you what it's really about. This is your way of saying, 'Fuck you.'"

He smirked at her. She was damn perceptive when she wanted to be.

"Yeah," she said, "I get it, Steven. I begged you to give me a glimmer of hope we'd get married someday. And when you finally decided you could, you found me with Michael. So you go out, take the first piece of trash you could find—"

"Hey!" Sam tried to stand up, but Hyde held her in his lap.

"You say something about my wife like that again, Jackie, and—"

"Your wife?" Jackie tossed back her hair and cackled smugly. "She's not your wife. She's a joke! And the joke's over, okay? I can forgive you for this. I can, but you have to drop it. Y—"

" _You_ can forgive _me?_ " Hyde forced himself to remain seated, but Jackie's skewed understanding of things had his blood pumping furiously into every piece of him. "Right. First you tried to pressure me into marriage and don't stick around to hear my answer. Then you come back and don't even fucking ask if I'm pissed you left, and..." He shut his eyes. Words he'd thought countless times since he first met her rose to his lips. "You're a selfish bitch."

"Steven!"

His eyes opened, and he stared right into Jackie's stunned face. "My wife's ten-fucking-times the chick you are," he said and brought his mouth to Sam's.

The kiss was hot and dirty, he made sure of that—their jaws widening against each other, tongues pressing and sliding—and, finally, he heard what he was waiting for: Jackie's shrill, horrified, "OH, MY, GOD!" followed by the clack of footsteps into the kitchen.

He continued to kiss Sam for a while, just for the hell of it, but then his stomach started to growl. "Wanna get some grub?" he said.

"Yeah." She hopped off his lap and giggled. "I _was_ beginning to wonder if you ever ate."

1:27 P.M.

The kitchen was devoid of people, which suited Hyde fine. He made Sam and himself a couple of sandwiches, got a few beers from the fridge. They ate silently at the table, and with every chew, he grew more and more disturbed by Sam's easy compliance.

"What's your deal, man?" he said. "It doesn't bother you my ex-girlfriend said all that crap?"

She took a swig of beer and shrugged. "No. She obviously loves you very much. I can understand why."

"What?"

"Hyde," she slid her hand over his fingers, "it's okay if you're using me to get back at her. She must have really hurt you."

" _What?_ " he repeated.

"You've treated me well today, baby... better than I've ever been treated by a man. Jackie must be crazy to have cheated on you." She drank another sip of beer and suddenly lowered her gaze. "Hyde, there's something I haven't told you."

"Sam..." He felt the urge to run. Who the hell was this chick?

"I'm married already." She took a deep, labored breath. "See, my husband, he's in Vegas. He—"

"No. I don't care," he said and meant it. He didn't care, and he didn't want to know. "Today, you're my chick, okay?"

She nodded sadly, eyes shining in the kitchen lights.

They continued to eat in silence until their beer cans went dry. "Want another brew?" he said and headed for the fridge.

Sam began to speak, but the sliding door slammed open. Kelso rushed in with Fez behind him.

"Where's the stripper?" Kelso shouted. Then he looked at Sam. "There she is! There is a stripper in the kitchen! Am I yelling? I can't help it!" He ran up to Hyde, who was holding two cans of beer, and pulled him into a crushing hug. "Oh, Hyde, you married a stripper! I love you so much!"

Hyde shoved Kelso off him. He was the last guy Hyde wanted to be near right now.

"You must be Kelso," Sam said and held out her hand, but Fez took ahold of it with both of his.

"Oh, Sam, you are so lovely," Fez said. "Show me your boobs, please?" He released her hand, and a dollar bill was left in her palm.

She lifted her shirt an inch as if it were a reflex, but Hyde put the beers on the counter and pulled her toward the basement stairs.

"Spoil sport!" Kelso shouted.

"Go fuck Jackie," Hyde said and immediately regretted it. He was revealing way too much, allowing his feelings to surface. But his Zen had bailed days ago, the moment Kelso walked into Jackie's hotel room.

1:48 P.M.

Hyde sagged onto the basement couch and stared numbly at the ceiling.

But he didn't stare at it for long. The Doors' "Gloria" thumped through Forman's stereo, and Sam started to dance. She removed her shirt, revealing a sparkling white bikini top. Her body undulated like a snake to Robby Krieger's guitar, but all Hyde could see and hear was Jackie—her pain and her damn self-centeredness.

He checked his watch. Not even two o'clock, and too many hours to go. "Sam," he said as she began to grind into his lap, "I gotta take you back."

"Back?"

"Yeah, to Kenosha. I can't—" A wave of pleasure surged through his body. _Fuck,_ she was talented, but he pushed her away, if only to speak properly. "I can't do this to you, man."

Sam looked morosely at her ring

"You can keep it," he said, and her face brightened a little. "But I gotta take you home."

She didn't argue. She simply put her clothes back on.

"SELFISH!" Kelso shouted from the basement stairs.

"I was about to see boobs!" Fez said next to him.

Hyde ignored them and brought Sam outside to the Camino.

2:23 P.M.

"Thanks for getting me back in time for my shift," Sam said. She and Hyde were standing in the shadow of her apartment building.

He gave her hands a squeeze. "Yeah... thanks for playing along today." She really wasn't a bad chick, but she wasn't _his_ chick. He'd never make that mistake with a girl again.

"I hope you get what you want," she said and kissed him one last time. Then, without looking back, she disappeared inside her building.

Hyde was in the Camino a moment later, driving toward the highway. He wanted only one thing: More of Jackie's pain. The show-up-with-a-wife plan was a bust. Jackie proved too smart for that. But where the hell was that intelligence in the last year? The generous insight he'd found beneath the layers of her selfish superficiality?

His eyes shut against the thoughts. He hated her, man. For forgetting all she was, for forgetting _him_ , for leaving—

A blaring car horn forced open his eyes; a sixteen-wheeler truck had stopped in front of him. He cursed and clutched the steering wheel, but it was too late. The Camino crashed into the back of the truck and threw his body forward. He hadn't put on his seat belt—only used to do that for Jackie—and pain smashed into his skull as he collided with the windshield.


	5. Timing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER 5  
 **TIMING**

"Holy hell," Hyde said, "did I just die?"

He sat up on the motel's bed and patted his chest to make sure it was solid. "I fucking kicked the bucket," he said, laughing. No one would believe him. He didn't believe himself.

His room at the Shooting Star Motel looked and sounded exactly as it did the last four mornings—sunlight streaming in through the window, ABBA song playing from the clock radio. It didn't inspire much creative thought, but his rise from the dead sure had. He knew exactly what he wanted to try next. It was nasty, and he'd need to be wasted to pull it off.

He showered quickly and dressed in his best shirt, the black silk one W.B. gave him for his nineteenth birthday. Then he left the motel without a word to Phyllis, just dropped his room key on the concierge desk. Checking the paper for the date didn't seem necessary, considering his skull wasn't smashed in. Plus, the sky outside had the same wispy clouds as yesterday, and his car sat undamaged in the parking lot instead of crumpled against a sixteen-wheeler truck. It was definitely still September 8th... and time to seize the day, man.

* * *

Hyde went to the bank and withdrew a thousand bucks, the same grand he'd taken out yesterday. Afterward, he found to a liquor store and bought its most expensive champagne. Bourbon would get him drunk a lot faster, but his plan required some finesse. The fancy stuff was a necessary component of it.

His seatbelt was firmly buckled during the drive back to Point Place. Traffic still moved slowly on Green Bay Road because of that Mazda-Dodge Ramcharger accident. It had caused a bottleneck again, only time the drivers were in the middle of a fistfight.

Hyde punched the steering wheel and shouted outside his window. It was 8:45 A.M. already. He had to get to the Burkhart Mansion before Jackie.

9:03 A.M.

The slow drive along the highway had given him too much time to think and unsettled him. But he did his best to shake off his anxiety as he rang the Burkharts' doorbell. He was standing on their front porch, huge bottle of champagne cradled in one arm. He'd left his shades in the Camino and the top two buttons of his shirt undone. Appearance was another component of his plan, but it meant nothing if no one answered the damn door.

A minute passed, and he pushed the doorbell with his fist. It did the trick. Pam opened the door a moment later. "Well, hello," she said. "You're Jackie's friend... Sven, right?"

"Hyde," he said. "Can I come in?"

She smiled and waved into the house. Her burgundy sweater didn't cover her navel; tight jeans showed off her ass. Hyde drummed his fingers on the champagne bottle as followed her to the living room. He probably had an hour to pull this thing off.

"Is that..." Her smile deepened. "Oh, my goodness, it is! It's Dom Pérignon! Sven, did you bring this over for me?"

He returned her smile. "Sure did, man. How 'bout I pour us a couple of glasses?"

She sat down on her white couch as he headed to the bar. Seemed Pam had sold off a few things since her husband got busted. The piano, several paintings, and the curio cabinet were gone. The only truly decadent things left were the grandfather clock and the marble fireplace with pictures of her and Jackie on the mantle. Sixty-grand of embezzled funds had bought them a lot—and cost them loads more.

" _Mmm..._ " Pam said after she took her first sip of champagne. "This is expensive, I can tell."

"Yup. I've got a lot of money now."

"Oh, that's right." She gestured for Hyde to join her on the couch, and he made sure to bring the champagne bottle with him. "Your father's William Barnett," she said melodically. "He owns that record store chain."

"Uh-huh." Hyde downed his glass in two gulps and poured himself another. Pam couldn't remember the name of her kid's boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—but she knew the name of a random dude she met at a party once...

Right. A random _rich_ dude.

Pam drained her first glass of champagne quickly, as if his own fast drinking had spooked her into it. He poured her another. "Steven," she said, "why do you honor me with such a gift? You even got the Magnum size."

"You're hot," he said and suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. The moment money came into the picture, she remembered his name.

Her fingertips smoothed down the collar of his sleeve; she must have known it was silk. "And I always thought you had a certain... scruffy charm," she said and took a big sip from her glass.

He matched her sip then bested it by tossing back the rest of his glass. This was gonna be an interesting morning...

9:19 A.M.

Pam was sitting flush against Hyde after fifteen minutes and four more glasses between them. The heavy, woody scent of her perfume saturated his nostrils, and the heat of her thigh had soaked through his jeans. He was already feeling the effects of the alcohol, thanks to his empty stomach. And she must have skipped breakfast, too, 'cause she was clearly buzzed.

"Steven, do you know what it feels like to get older?" she said.

"Uh... no."

"It's the worst feeling in the world—after learning the man you're with is broke." She patted his knee, just like Jackie used to, and it made him shift uncomfortably on the couch. His body could carry out his plan now, but his mind wasn't ready. The guilt he'd felt just fantasizing about her—the day he and Red accidentally saw her breasts—was enough to make him soft.

But he couldn't afford to let that happen now, so he poured himself another glass—his fifth—and drank it down.

"Jackie is so lucky she's young," Pam said. She'd been sipping politely at her own fifth glass, but she tipped her head back and finished it up. "Youth really is wasted on the young, don't you think?"

"Sure." He had to speed this up. Jackie was probably in the Formans' basement, crying with Donna. He tucked some of Pam's hair behind her ear, let his hand linger at her neck. "But all us young guys, we know you're hot as hell. Pisses our chicks off 'cause we can't stop thinking about you."

"Really?" She beamed at him, and her smile reminded him too damn much of Jackie's. The booze hadn't fully kicked in yet. He had a good buzz going, but he needed to be freakin' plastered.

"Yeah, man," he said. "Forman's whacked off to pictures of you. Kelso used to think about you when he nailed Jackie—"

Pam laughed a bird-like laugh. "Of course he did. You know, he snuck into my bedroom once when Jack was on business. That silly boy had only his underwear on..."

"Sounds like Kelso."

"He sat on my bed, and it startled me so much, I screamed. When I realized it was Michael, I kicked him out. He's a good-looking boy, and I understand why he wanted to try something with me, but I could never do that to Jackie. She loves him."

"Right..." Hyde slid his arm behind Pam's shoulders, and she didn't react. She was definitely drunk and seemed to think Kelso was still Jackie's boyfriend. That suited Hyde fine; it was basically the truth, anyway.

"What about you, Steven?" Pam's fingers eased onto his thigh. "Have you ever thought about us?"

"All the time. Was kinda hard watching you with Bob."

"Oh..." She looked away demurely, but her fingers inched up his denim-clad leg and cupped his groin. "Something else is hard, too."

Hyde's stomach tensed. He didn't want to be here, but the potential payoff was too damn good to miss. He kept his gaze on her mouth, focused on her lips. They were so much like Jackie's...

Pam made the first move. She dug her hands into his hair and drew him into a forceful kiss. He kept his eyes closed. This was gonna be rough on him, even with his booze-drenched brain.

"How old are you?" she whispered. She'd released him from the kiss and began to suck on his neck, right below his jaw. The feeling of her mouth made his erection push tightly against his jeans, but shame was throbbing along with his blood. "Steven," she said again, "how old are you?"

"Nineteen."

That seemed to be enough for her because she swiftly unbuttoned his shirt. Her hands crept over his bare chest as her lips continued their assault on his neck—but her touch made him pull away.

She frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, man. Nothing. Just wanna even things up." He grabbed the hem of her sweater and jerked the sweater off her body, which made her giggle—too freakin' familiarly. Then he unhooked her bra, hoping the visuals would help. Her breasts were perfect, larger copies of Jackie's. He palmed them, and a current of revulsion flowed up his arms.

Alcohol wasn't enough to make him do this. He needed something stronger, more potent. He plundered his mind for help, and the memory of a windy summer day rose up. He was chasing Jackie across a green meadow. Her shoulders were bare, and a spot of gold shone below her collarbone. "Grasshopper—" he said as his fingers skimmed her elbow, but she slipped away from him.

"Can't hold onto me, can ya?" she teased, but her hair had blown into her face. She slowed down to push it from her eyes, and he captured her around the waist.

"I win," he said and hugged her tightly from behind.

"Doesn't count! The stupid wind got in the way."

He pressed his lips into the nape of her neck. "You want me to let you go?"

"Never." She turned around in his arms, and her smile—the one she reserved just for him—made him feel as if he'd smoked the best stuff, giddy and serene at the same time.

But she'd taken that away from him, taken herself away. Anger spilled from the ruptured memory and flooded his veins, drowning all his apprehension in its wake.

"Steven!" Pam shouted in delight.

His mouth had found one of her nipples. He circled the taut peak with his tongue and sucked on it, causing her to moan in little gasps—thankfully, nothing at all like Jackie.

She gripped the back of his head as his teeth tugged gently at her other nipple, but he had little time left. He directed her to lie down on the couch. Then his right hand glided over her stomach and unbuttoned her jeans. His fingers slid beneath the smooth satin of her panties, into the slick heat between her legs. He began to massage her, and her moans became deep and long. Again, nothing like Jackie.

His movements felt like they belonged to someone else. The booze had fully kicked in now. He unzipped his jeans, and they fell in heap over his boots. His boxers joined them seconds later. He'd forgotten to pull a rubber from his duffel bag, but it didn't matter. Tomorrow would be the same as today. He slipped off Pam's shoes, yanked her jeans and panties off her long legs.

"God, Steven," her voice was thick with lust, "what angel sent you to me this morning?" She raised her ankles to his shoulders, showing off how ready she was. He was ready, too, and he knelt over her on the couch, positioning himself. "Wait!" she shouted.

Hyde grunted. He needed to get this started. "What?"

"You never wanted to do this to Jackie, did you?"

"Do what?" he said.

Pam slapped the couch in frustration. "Fuck her."

"Oh." Man, he really was drunk. "No," he said. "No way... no." And he wasn't lying. He'd never fucked Jackie. What they did— _used to do—_ was something else entirely.

"Then fuck me, Steven."

_Finally._ Hyde pressed his hips against her thighs and drove himself into her. The timing had to be just right, so he moved with even strokes.

The grandfather clock was ticking loudly across the living room, and its large clock face let him see the time. It was 9:36 A.M.

Pam clutched at his wrists. "Harder," she said.

_Damn it._ He increased his strokes, and she smiled.

9:40...

"Steven... harder."

He dug his fingers into the couch and deepened his thrusts.

"Yes!" she shouted. "That's—that's what I... I'm... after."

9:43...

The front door clicked open. This was it. Hyde slammed himself into Pam as hard and fast as he could, and he didn't have to fake any sounds 'cause they burst right out of him.

"Steven?"

Jackie's voice rang in his ears, and he started to groan... _her_ was too damn drunk; he couldn't shut himself up. " _Jackie_... _Ja_..." He peered over at her, a huge mistake. She looked horrified—and beautiful. "Oh, fuck." He shut his eyes against the pleasure erupting inside his body. He was coming.

"Oh... God..." Jackie said, and she ran past him to the bathroom.

He withdrew from Pam as he went flaccid, pulled up his boxers and jeans. She screamed at him to finish what he'd started, but he had to get out of there. His shirt lay crumpled on the area rug. He snatched it up and stumbled to the door, down the steps of the front porch—and took a nosedive onto the Burkharts' lawn.

Blades of grass were tickling his skin, made him itchy. He picked himself up and put on his shirt—backwards. Now the tag was itching him, and his back was cold, but he walked across the gravel driveway on wobbly legs. He passed the Camino...

No way was he gonna be able to drive, man. He'd gotten himself killed driving _sober_ yesterday, and maybe he was allotted only one death on this fucked-up merry-go-round.

He passed the Burkharts' gate and kept walking... and didn't stop until he reached the Formans' _._

9:56 A.M.

Fez and Kelso were playing basketball in front of the Formans' garage. Hyde tried to get inside the house without announcing his arrival, but the bounce of the ball finished him. He dropped to his knees and vomited onto the concrete.

"Hyde?" Kelso crouched beside him. "Dude, you're totally spewing."

"Ai... are you sick?" Fez said.

"Of course he's sick," Kelso said and patted Hyde's back. "You okay?"

_No,_ Hyde wanted to say, but his mouth was too busy puking. And he wanted to shove Kelso away—'cause Kelso's sympathy only made him feel worse.

"Man, I wish Mrs. Forman were here," Kelso said.

"Mr. Red is still here," Fez said. "I'll go get him."

Fez's legs disappeared through the house's sliding door. Thirty seconds later, the rest of Hyde's stomach was on the concrete. He covered the mess with his shirt; then he pushed off Kelso's knee and stood up.

"Seriously, man," Kelso said, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just need to get some sleep."

But Kelso didn't seem convinced. He wrapped his arm around Hyde's back and helped him into the kitchen. "You smell like booze," Kelso said and sat him down on a chair. "I'll make ya some coffee."

"Don't bother." Hyde lowered his forehead to the table. The day had just gone from bad to worse. Kelso was bein' a good guy, and Hyde hated him for it.

He tried to get some rest as Kelso fiddled with the Formans' coffee maker, but the kitchen door swung open and made him sit back up.

"Dumbass!" Red shouted and strode to the table. He was wearing the slate blue uniform of his muffler shop. "What were you doing vomiting in my driveway?"

Fez ran in front of Hyde protectively. "I didn't tell you so you could yell at him, Mr. Red. I told you so you could help him."

"You know how _you_ can help, Hadji?"

"It's a trick question, Fez," Kelso said, frantically waving a coffee filter. "Don't answer!"

Hyde got up and went toward the basement stairs. "I'm outta here."

"Steven," Red clasped Hyde's shoulder, "what's going on?"

"Nothing. Just need a nap, okay?"

"No," Kelso said, "it's _not_ nothing. He found me and Jackie in Chicago about to do it, and—"

Hyde didn't hear the rest. He'd pulled free of Red's grip and was already climbing down the stairs. He held onto the bannister and made it to the basement intact, but the cement floor lurched beneath his feet. He used the couch to keep from falling and shuffled off to his room.

The sight of his cot drove all thoughts of privacy from him. He didn't waste time on shutting the door and crashed on top of his knit blanket. It felt nice being in his room after so many days, but he had little time to enjoy it. Only seconds after he'd registered the feeling, sleep grabbed him.

3:49 P.M.

"Steven... Steven, wake up, son."

Hyde opened his eyes. Red was leaning over him, still in his muffler shop uniform. And his expression held more sadness than Hyde had ever seen.

"What's going on?" Hyde said. He tried to stand, but a killer headache punched into his skull. "Uh... could you get me some aspirin?"

A glass of water and two pills were thrust into his hands. Red had come prepared, apparently— _nice._ Hyde swallowed the pills, returned the glass to Red, and curled back up on his cot.

"Steven—"

"Whatever it is, can it wait an hour?"

"No, Steven, it can't." Red's somber tone forced him to sit up. "It's Jackie."

"What's Jackie?"

"Pam..." Red sighed and sat on the ottoman across from the cot. "Pam found her in the bathroom at their house. She wasn't conscious—" His voice caught, which meant he was more than serious, and Hyde did his best to focus. "Pam called an ambulance, but it was—it was too late, son. I'm sorry."

"'Too late'?" Hyde's headache wailed on him like a boxer, powerful fists slamming repeatedly into his brain. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Jackie's dead."

"Yeah, right." He let out an incredulous chuckle, but the fists smashed his heart to the floor. "Bullshit."

"They're keeping the body at the hospital so you can say goodbye," Red said. "Kitty's made sure of that. Donna and the dumba— _them_ are already on their way."

"No."

"I'll drive you." Red stood from the ottoman, but Hyde couldn't move. "Steven..."

"No."

"Steven," Red was standing in the doorway now, "if you don't get your ass up and into the Vista Cruiser, I'll kick it there."

4:11 P.M.

Hyde barely registered putting on a shirt, leaving his room, or climbing the basement's back stairs. The drive to the hospital was a blur. Entering the main entrance was a blank memory. He watched himself ride the elevator to the fifth floor, exit, and walk to the nurse's station—but none of it felt real. He only snapped out of it when Donna ran to him in tears.

"Hyde, oh, my God!" She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. "I can't believe she's gone."

The aspirin had taken his headache, but his pounding heart stole his ability to speak. He wanted to know exactly what had happened, but he needed someone to tell him voluntarily—'cause he couldn't fucking ask.

Kelso and Fez were seated in the waiting area. They were both crying like Donna. Hyde had never seen them like that before, and the sight darkened the well-lit hospital floor like a shroud.

"None of us have gone in yet," Donna said. She released him and wiped her cheeks. "We—we thought you should go first."

Hyde nodded silently.

"Steven, honey?" Mrs. Forman said. She'd seemed to appear out of nowhere. The pink cardigan of her nurse's uniform was askew, and her eyes were wet but no tears. "Would you like to see her?"

He couldn't answer. His mouth refused to move.

"I had her put into a private room." She rubbed his arm tenderly, and her touch finally gave him back his voice.

"Why?" he said hoarsely.

"So you—so you could say goodbye, sweetie."

"No, I mean why is she..." he shut his eyes, "dead?"

"Oh, well..." she took his hand and led him toward a room, "sleeping pills. Her mom kept some tequila in the cabinet under the sink. Taken together..."

Chills crept up Hyde's spine like spiders of ice. "She killed herself?"

"It looks that way. I—I don't understand why. If her mother had noticed just a little sooner..." Mrs. Forman shook her head. "Three senseless deaths today because of bad timing. It's just so—so damn unfair."

They reached the private room, and inside was a single hospital bed. For a moment, Hyde thought they'd made a mistake, confused Jackie with a different girl. The body lying on top of the bed was stiff and silent, but Jackie could never stay still for long without giggling or griping. And a blue sheet covered the body up to its neck, but Jackie never would've worn that damn color.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" Mrs. Forman said.

"Donna..." he said. "I need her in here with me."

"I understand." She stuck her head outside the door and called for Donna.

Donna joined them within moments. She clutched his arm and pressed her face into it. "Oh, God,." she said, muffled by his sleeve.

The room's curtains were drawn shut, paintings of the Grand Canyon hung on the wall, and a dark oak dresser stood against a wall. For a private room, it was kind of dismal. Jackie would've hated it.

"Mrs. Forman," Hyde's gaze lowered to the white floor, "could you leave the three of us alone for a minute?"

Mrs. Forman squeezed his shoulder gently and, without a word, left.

"Oh, my God—Jackie," Donna said but her voice was a broken mess. "How could—how could your mom let this happen?"

Hyde tried to lift his gaze and failed. "It's my fault, man."

"Your fault? How is it your—"

"She caught me and Pam."

"Doing what?" Donna said. When he didn't answer, she dug a knuckle into his ribs. "You and Pam doing _what,_ Hyde?"

"Fucking, okay? We were fucking, and Jackie—"

"You and Pam?" She stepped in front of him, but he focused on her blue sneakers. "No, I don't buy it. You wouldn't—"

"Jackie nailed Kelso..." He stopped. The words sounded hollow. He felt hollow.

Donna grabbed him by his shirt and yanked him to the hospital bed. "She didn't do it!" Her fingers burrowed into his hair and angled his head. "Look at her, you asshole! She didn't do it!"

Jackie's lips were pale. He touched them, hoping to break her out whatever the hell this was, but they felt rubbery, cold.

"Ja—" he began to say, but numbness spread from the middle of his forehead down to his chest. He couldn't reconcile the body in front of him with the girl so vibrant in his memory.

"She loved you!" Donna shouted and tightened her grip on him. "All she wanted to do was love you, and you—"

Hyde unhooked Donna's fingers from his scalp. Nothing to say to her, to _that._ He turned toward the door, and Donna's fist smashed into his face. Pain radiated from his nose—it was probably busted—and blood dripped into his mouth. He shouldered open the door and covered his face. Didn't want anyone to see 'cause then they'd keep him from leaving.

"Hyde?" Kelso's voice.

"Gotta go," Hyde mumbled.

He hurried to the bank of elevators, but Fez was at his back before he even pressed the call button.

"Hyde, I am so sorry. It's okay to cry."

Hyde said nothing.

"Ai! You're bleeding!" Fez tried to pull him to the nurse's station. "Miss Kitty, Miss Kitty..."

One of the elevators opened. Hyde wrested out of Fez's grip, and two long strides brought him inside the elevator. He punched the close-door button.

"Hyde! Where are you—"

The elevator doors shut.

4:37 P.M.

Hyde was back home in the upstairs bathroom, cleaning the blood off his face. He looked like hell, but today _was_ hell. Over fifteen hours until "tomorrow," man—

His reflection froze as fresh terror struck him. What if tomorrow _was_ tomorrow? What if today "took," and there were no do-over?

He opened the medicine cabinet. A bottle of Mrs. Forman's "menopause" pills was on the second shelf. He stuck the bottle in his pocket and went downstairs.

The small den where Red kept his books was also the place Mrs. Forman hid her schnapps. Hyde searched the bookcase, pulling out books then replacing them. Behind a fat dictionary he found an unopened bottle of Barton Peach. He stuffed it under his arm.

Then he wrote the Formans—and _Forman_ —a letter in the basement. If today did actually take, and tomorrow was tomorrow, they needed to know what had happened... and why.

5:04 P.M.

Mrs. Forman had taken the Toyota to the hospital. The 'Cruiser was there, too, so Hyde walked back to the Burkhart Mansion. The Camino was still parked on the gravel driveway, and he drove it to the Shooting Star Motel in Kenosha.

A different concierge was on duty, a tall man with a thick gray beard. "Welcome to the Shooting Star Motel," he said. "Can I help you with something?"

"Yup," Hyde said. "Need a room."

The concierge, Robert, smiled at him. "Well, you're in luck because we got plenty. That'll be ten dollars."

Hyde gave him the money, and Robert passed him the key to— _where-the-hell-else?_ —his usual room, 2-B.

Less than two minutes later, Hyde was sitting on the sagging bed with Mrs. Forman's pills in his palm and the bottle of peach schnapps between his knees.

He'd lived September 8th, 1979 five times. Someone had to be screwing with him, but he had no real idea who. Resurrection seemed beyond the scope of even The Man, no matter what technology they'd researched and were keeping hidden. Only other possibility he could think of was the "Big Fucker Upstairs". Not that he believed in God in the classic, religious, opiate-of-the-masses sense. He more believed in the cosmos.

It was a damn joke, whatever it was. Just like finding Jackie with Kelso had been a joke... just like his whole fucking life. He shoveled the white pills into his mouth and washed them down with the schnapps. In no time, both bottles were empty.

He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. A glint of gold was behind them, along with a bright green meadow and a smile that shone like sunlight.

_"I'm glad you won, Puddin'."_

_"Thought it didn't count."_

_"Yeah, but when you win—I win. So it counts."_

Hyde shut his eyes harder as the memory played out. He didn't want to be with Jackie. He just needed Jackie _to be._ If tomorrow finally came, and she wasn't there, he didn't want to be there either.


	6. A Different Path

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do” (C) ABBA; 1993 Polydor / Umgd.

CHAPTER 6  
 **A DIFFERENT PATH**

Hyde awoke where he died yesterday, and one word blazed through his brain like a shooting star: _Jackie._

No empty pill or schnapps bottles lay beside him on the motel bed. That lame-ass ABBA song played on the clock radio—and the time was 8:00 A.M. It had to be "today" again. It had to be, and he pushed himself off the sagging mattress.

First thing he did was shut off the radio alarm. Then, with shaking fingers, he called the hotel in Chicago. "Jackie Burkhart's room," he said. "7-D."

A pause. And then the nasal-voiced operator answered, "I'm sorry, but Ms. Burkhart checked out."

"When?"

"I don't have that information. I—"

Hyde slammed down the phone, changed from his stinked-up Rolling Stones shirt into his worn, white Zeppelin tee. Got the paper from Phyllis downstairs. The date read, "September 8th, 1979," and the front page had the usual headlines—so far, so good. But his pulse pounded like it had been juiced by jumper cables.

He wouldn't be okay until he saw her.

8:18 A.M.

The Camino sped west along the highway, and sirens were blaring behind it. Red lights flashed. He'd passed a damn speed trap.

He pulled over to the side of the road, rolled down his window. He'd gotten speeding tickets before, so he knew the drill.

A clean-shaven cop stepped up to his window. He didn't look friendly. "License and registration pl—"

"Here." Hyde shoved both documents into the cop's hands. "I was doing seventy in a sixty-five mile zone. Just give me the ticket, and I'll—"

"How much did you have to drink this morning, Mr. Hyde?" the cop said.

"Nothing. Look, I gotta get home, ma—sir. And there's this accident a quarter mile down Green Bay Road, which is gonna slow—"

"An accident? What kind of accident?"

"Small car crashed into a big car."

"Right." The cop cocked an eyebrow at him. "How do you know that?"

"Whatever. Can you just write up the ticket?"

The cop sighed and dropped his arms down to his sides. "The Wisconsin Waster's out there, and I gotta deal with this bullsh—never mind. Step out of the car, please."

Hyde clenched his jaw— _fucking jackass—_ but took off his shades and got out of the car. The next ten minutes consisted of field sobriety tests, all of which he passed. Finally, at 8:32 A.M., he was back on his way.

He hit the bottleneck on Green Bay Road shortly. The scrawny guy and the short, burly guy were still fighting beside their wrecked cars. The cop hadn't believed him about the accident, but he'd find out for himself soon enough.

8:55 A.M.

Hyde had parked in the Formans' driveway. But instead of going inside the house, he got out of the Camino and leaned against it. He wanted to catch Jackie the moment she arrived.

The first minute ticked by slowly. He'd never spotted Kelso's red sports car by the house, didn't know how Jackie got here the last five September 8ths. The uncertainty and slow passing of time made him pace. Two sluggish minutes of pacing, and he went to the basement using the back stairs.

Donna was in the exact same place he found her three September 8ths ago—in the middle of the couch, staring blankly at the TV. But he'd gotten here earlier than the last time. The Barbie commercial wasn't playing. Now it was an ad for a Lego "Space Set".

Hyde sat in Fez's usual chair by the basement door, and Donna spotted him once his ass hit the seat.

"Hyde—oh, my God, you're here!" she said. Her face showed no trace of the fury from yesterday, only joy at seeing him.

"Yup.

"What happened in Chicago?"

He crossed his arms. "Doesn't matter."

"Come on," she scooted to the corner of the couch closest to him, "you gotta give me more than that."

"Really, man. Doesn't matter."

"Well, if it doesn't matter," she said, "why are you here with me instead of there with Jackie? Did you even go to Chicago?"

He didn't want to talk about it, just wanted time to go faster. It was 8:59 A.M. "How you dealin' with Forman being gone?" he said.

"Yeah," she combed her fingers though her hair and gazed at the floor, "turns out I'm not okay with him being gone. _At all._ But whatever."

"If it makes you feel any better, he's gonna be eating bugs for the next year."

Donna chuckled. "Oh, God. Could you imagine his face when they present dinner to him, and it's, like, a bowl of spiders?"

"He'd probably jump into the Atlantic and swim back here."

The familiar melody of the _Looney Tunes_ theme bounced from the TV's speaker, and Hyde leaned back in the chair, uncrossed his arms. Then he laced his fingers over his chest. His heart was beating under them like a freakin' Keith Moon solo. He had to calm down.

He focused on the cartoon playing— _False Hare—_ on the antics of the Big Bad Wolf and his nephew. They were trying to trap Bugs Bunny, and Hyde snickered. Bugs had always been his favorite, and he finally started to settle down. But halfway through the cartoon—when "Uncle Big Bad" tried to lure Bugs into an iron maiden—Donna piped up.

"What am I gonna do without him, Hyde?"

He shrugged. "Masturbate?"

"Hyde!" She threw the couch's ratty green blanket at him. "I'm serious. I mean, it's a whole year. Every day, I'll be waking up without him."

"And he'll be wakin' up with a chimp. Who's got the worse deal?"

"Okay, out with it," she said. "What happened in Chicago?"

Hyde dropped his head back and sighed. "Nothing, man. I already told y—"

"Bull. You're never this cranky with me."

_"No,_ I just don't know what to say about Forman." He looked at his watch. It was 9:04 A.M.

Donna clutched her knees and glared at him. "You've never had that problem before."

"So?"

" _So_ something really bad must have happened in Chicago, like... you proposed to Jackie and she said no."

"Wrong."

"She said yes?"

He shifted his weight on the chair. "Quit guessin'."

"Then just tell me," she said. "Because if you don't, Jackie will, and whose version do you want me to be influenced by?"

Hyde remained silent. The Big Bag Wolf was now attempting to get Bugs to jump into a canon, but Bugs used the wolf's own trick against him. What maroons. No one ever got anything over on that rabbit.

Donna groaned and stood from the couch. "Fine. Don't tell me, you big dillhole." She marched past him toward the door, but he grabbed her wrist.

"Okay, who brought Jackie to Chicago?" he said.

She shook her head, as if she didn't understand the question. "Kelso, but—"

"Need to know anything else?"

"Wait, are you saying..." She backed up until she was standing in front of him. "You're saying Jackie and Kelso?"

"Saw it with my own two eyes, man." And he still saw it, Kelso naked under the towel. Still heard Jackie's nervous suggestion to go for a walk, right before Kelso popped into the room. But the image of Jackie's stiff, pale body on that hospital bed, the feel of her cold lips... they outdid anything in Chicago.

Donna sat on the arm of the couch. "I can't believe it. They were in the middle of... you know?"

"No. But it was clear it was about to happen."

"How clear? Clear like they were both naked and Frenching? Or clear like they were fully-clothed and breathing the same air? Because you're made that mistake before."

"Closer to the first than the second," he said.

"Wow. I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

The _Looney Tunes_ theme played again. _False Hare_ was over, and they watched the commercials without a word. It was 9:09 A.M. when the Road Runner cartoon began—and Donna spoke again.

"You know, sometimes I wish I could do that to Eric." she said, and afeeling of déjà vu swept through him. Not only were her words the same, but also the pain in her voice and face.

"Do what?" he said

"Cheat on him. I'm just—I'm just so mad at him for leaving. He does all these things, makes these decisions without me... that __affect__ me. And it doesn't matter how angry I get with him. Never makes a difference." _  
_ _  
_"And nailing another guy will?"

"Well, at least I'd be making a choice for __myself.__ _"_ Her tone shifted to a higher, mocking pitch. "'Oh, did that bother you, Eric? But I had sex with him to better our lives.'" She laughed bitterly. "Yeah, right. And you know what? He's probably going to do it to me."

Hyde furrowed his brow. "No way."

"He doesn't have his __Star Wars__ models in Africa, Hyde. And he only packed five of his dirty mags. He's got the libido of a freakin' animal. He's gonna do it. May take six months, but he will."

"Forman doesn't have the balls to cheat on you, man."

A sound like blowing wind whistled from the TV. Wile E. Coyote had that kite strapped to his back again. And, again, he plunged off the cliff. He hit the ground, and the bomb in his hands blew up.

Donna chuckled, just like the last time. "Kelso is __so__ Wile E. Coyote—crap." She covered her mouth, also like the last time.

"Whatever," he said. "It's cool." And that seemed to relax, her but he couldn't deal with just sitting. Jackie had shown up around the end of the cartoon, and it still had a few minutes left.

__Long_ _ _minutes._

He stood up and went to the deep freeze, pulled out a Popsicle. His stomach growled the moment the lime ice hit his tongue. His body wanted more than sugar water for breakfast, but it was lucky to get anything. He just needed to see her damn face.

9:12 A.M.

His tongue was numb from the icy Popsicle, and his pulse had grown tight from waiting.

9:13 A.M.

He began to pace the basement behind the couch, and Donna peered over at him. "What are you doing?" she said.

"Exercising."

9:14 A.M.

The basement door door slammed open. "Steven?" Jackie shouted. ""Ste—Oh, my God..."

A heavy sigh forced itself from Hyde's lungs. "Fuck."

She rushed to him and flung her arms around his waist. "Nothing happened, okay?" she said, nestling her face against his chest. "Nothing."

"It doesn't matter." His own arms closed around her, and his cheek pressed into her forehead. "Right now, I don't give a shit. Just... you're okay, right?"

She was warm against him, heart beating, voice full of intense emotion. __Alive.__ He shut his eyes and cursed silently. He was still in love with her.

"I'm a lot better than I was last night." She withdrew from him slightly. "I am so sorry about what happened in Chicago—"

"I thought 'nothing' happened."

Her eyes grew large with fear. "It didn't. I swear, Steven."

He widened the distance between them, but his hands remained on her back. "It was going to."

"Baby..." she slid her fingers along his arms and grasped them, "I was alone and I thought I lost you."

"Whatever." He stiffened. His hands dropped from her back.

She squeezed his arms tighter in response. "Why didn't you tell me sooner you wanted to get married?"

The same arguments rose in his throat, but he crammed them back down. Her question was wrong. It didn't acknowledge her part in this damn mess, and it made him want to shake her.

"Jackie," he said, "we're not freakin' right for each other, okay? We both want different things, and that's not gonna change. So go find someone who'll give you what you want, all right? I don't even care if it's Kelso."

"Steven, what—what are you saying?" Her hands clutched at his short sleeves; tears spilled down her cheeks.

"Think you heard me." He glanced over at Donna, who was still on the couch. She'd clearly been watching them. "Donna, don't let her out of your sight, man. Don't let her go into the bathroom at her house."

Both chicks looked at him as if he were crazy.

"Donna," he repeated, "promise me you won't let her go to that bathroom."

"Oh, I am __so__ going to my bathroom," Jackie said, "unless you stay and talk this out. Please. _Please,_ Steven, don't leave."

"Jackie," he gently cupped her shoulders, "you're gonna be a lot happier this way, doll. You're only eighteen, you're hot as hell, and you got a lot a _ _good__ guy'll want. So find him 'cause it's not me."

He let her go, and her own hands slipped from his arms. She didn't follow him out of the basement.

10:22 A.M.

Hyde walked into the empty living room of W.B.'s house, dropped his duffel back onto the leather couch, and sat down. Angie and her boyfriend hadn't shown up yet. W.B. wasn't home either, but his house seemed the safest place to be. Hyde lowered his face to his hands. He had to re-think things, man. Hurting Jackie was out. But so was being with her.

He pulled his stash from the duffel bag and sparked up a joint. His best ideas usually came to him in a circle, but that was when he could ricochet them off Forman. The five days Hyde had spent without him were not his proudest.

11:01 A.M.

Hyde was starving and completely baked. He'd managed to make his way into the large kitchen, where W.B.'s cook, Ilsa, was preparing lunch.

"Hello, Mr. Hyde," she said.

"Hey." He flopped onto a stool by the granite counter. Ilsa was busy chopping celery, and her huge knockers bounced with each slice. The sight made him giddy.

"Can I get you anything?" she said.

"Man, a burger would be great," he said between laughs.

"Lunch will be ready in an hour." She picked up the cutting board and slid the chopped celery into a pot of water. "Are you here to meet Ms. Barnett's boyfriend?"

"Sure." He stood up, still laughing, and pulled a packet of ham and a six-pack of beer from the fridge. He set those down on the counter beside Ilsa. Then he tore the plastic covering off a loaf of Wonder Bread. Half the pieces flew onto the floor, which made him laugh even harder.

Ilsa grabbed the remaining bread from him and patted the stool. "Sit." She made a few sandwiches.

Hyde snatched one, took a big bite of it. "Ilsa, man, got a question."

"Yes, Mr. Hyde?" She began to julienne some carrots.

"What would you do if you were living the same day over again? You could do anything you wanted, and it wouldn't count 'cause you'd wake up the next day and get a do-over."

Ilsa chuckled and didn't stop slicing the carrots into strips. "I'd poison my neighbor's dog. That horrible thing barks all the time. Ugly as sin, too. Looks like a rat."

"Huh." He opened a beer and took a sip. "Okay, well, what if you were in love with this chick—" he corrected himself, "this __dude__ and didn't wanna be anymore? And you had to see her—himall the time?"

"I'd move away," she said.

"What if you couldn't?"

"Then I'd do everything I could not to see him. Maybe try to find someone else."

Hyde nodded thoughtfully. Then he stuffed the rest of the sandwich into his mouth with a swig of beer. "Thanks," he said, but sounded more like, "Mmnks."

11:34 A.M.

He was back in the living room, stretched out on the long, leather couch. Filomena, the maid, was busy dusting W.B.'s shelves and knickknacks.

"I smelled what you were doing earlier," she said. Her tone was teasing. "Why don't you share?"

"Get ya next time," he said and closed his eyes. Finding someone else wasn't gonna happen. Love was for masochists, and all it did was give a guy something to lose. What he needed to do was forget it, forget __her.__

He set his mind to doing just that and drifted into a light sleep. He was woken by the front door banging shut.

"Steven?"

He didn't bother to sit up or open his eyes. "Hey, Ange. Russ."

"What are you doing here?" she said.

"Sleeping."

She groaned. "Look, I don't—wait, you know Russel?"

He popped open one eye. Angie's boyfriend was shrugging and shaking his head.

"Uh... W.B. told me about him," Hyde said.

"Oh." Angie shoved his legs off the couch and sat down. Then she gestured between him and Russel. "Babe, this is my brother Steven. Steven, as you apparently know, this is Russel. Now that introductions are over with... what are you really doing here? It's not like you to just show up."

"Told you, man. Sleeping. You and Russ can go feel each other up in your room."

Angie flinched, as if his suggestion had stung her. But her expression melted into a smile. "Hmm. Good idea." She stood up again and took Russel's hand.

Hyde grabbed her sleeve as she passed by. "Angie, wait. I gotta ask you something."

"Stop it!" She slapped his hand away. "That's cashmere."

"If you were in love with someone," he said, ignoring her frown, "and you didn't wanna be, what the hell would you do?"

She glanced at Russel, and her smile returned. "Oh, that'll never happen. You're either in love or not."

"But what if you didn't __want__ to be, man?"

"Are you high?"

Hyde rolled his eyes behind his shades. "Yeah, but that's not the—forget it."

"Ange," Russel drew her close and kissed her by the ear, "let me talk to your bro for a sec, okay? Guy-stuff."

Angie giggled. "Okay. I'll be in the kitchen." She inhaled deeply, and her smile deepened. "Ilsa's making something wonderful just for you, babe—for lunch _ _and__ dinner—because I told her to."

Hyde stared at her as she walked toward the kitchen. Man, she was far-gone. But the scent wafting from the stove smelled pretty damn good.

Russel sat on the couch once Angie disappeared from view. "Listen," he whispered, "I've been there, having a devil-woman jabbing a pitchfork into your heart. It ain't pretty."

"Nope," Hyde said.

"Took me almost a year, but I got over her. Went a little crazy the first few months, but I calmed down. Eventually I thought about her less and less. Then I bumped into her at a party. Didn't feel a thing—" Russel laughed his hearty laugh. "That's a lie. I felt a drop of anger, a drop of ' _ _Damn, she's fine,__ _'_ but they were only drops. They dissolved in the same minute."

"A year, huh?"

"Just about."

Hyde nodded. His path was clear, and he stood up. "Thanks, man. Think I know what I gotta do."

Russel stood with him. "Cool. Glad I could help." He took a breath and exhaled loudly. "Man, that food smells nice. Where are we eating this meal, the kitchen or the dining room?"

"No clue," Hyde said.

"How 'bout we find out?" Russel led the way toward the kitchen.

"Sounds like a plan."

But Hyde was gonna find out more than where he would eat lunch today. He was going to find out how long it would take to get over Jackie. For good.


	7. False Starts and Dead Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. / Umgd.

CHAPTER 7  
 **FALSE STARTS AND DEAD ENDS**

The first thing Hyde did when he woke was check his mental calender: 275 days since September 8th began repeating itself—and 269 days since he'd last seen Jackie. His ABBA wake-up call no longer bothered him; he'd learned to block the song out. But awaking in a foul-smelling shirt every morning sucked. The stink of cigarettes and spilt beer never let him to sleep in. Sometimes he tossed the shirt onto the floor, but the smell clung to his skin like sweat.

The months had gone by fast. He'd spent his days driving to different parts of the country, sometimes really far like Denver, Colorado. Or driving until 7:59 A.M. when he'd black out and wake up a second later in the Shooting Star Motel. He made it as far as Salt Lake City once. Some days he drove not far at all, like to Waukegan.

He'd experienced more of the country—and parts of Canada—in the past year than he thought he ever would. It was damn cool, man. No one to answer to, no one to stop him—except when he got caught by the cops. He'd seen the inside of a lot of jail cells for stupid shit. Pulling off a bank heist wasn't as easy as it looked.

Not only did he get to a lot of places, but he met a lot of people, too. The best part about meeting them was they forgot him "the next day". It meant he could be a total asshole if he wanted to. His behavior had landed him in a ton of bar fights. More than a dozen sent him to the hospital. Another dozen left him a bloody pile on the concrete outside. But he always woke up, good as new, in his motel room.

And chicks... nailing 'em had become a daily habit. He tried to fuck at least one each day, and he'd found some girls who were into the dirtiest stuff. A fifteen-hour drive to a New Jersey bar led him to a dozen chicks who were kinky-as-hell. He got to screw all of 'em at once. Even repeated that trip a couple of times, but it grew old.

Five months into the year—day 162—he was fucking a girl in Winner, South Dakota. Beautiful chick. Blonde hair past her ass, tall as Donna. But coming with her was the same as coming with the quiet redhead in Barnesville, Georgia and the brown-eyed nutjob from Rhinelander, Wisconsin.

The night after the South Dakota blonde, he ended up at a bar in Des Moines, Idaho. He'd been there before, to that specific bar on day 50, and he swore he'd never go back.

But when he got into the Camino that 163rd morning, he didn't remember why he'd sworn off that bar. He just drove and found himself in Idaho, at Lulu's Saloon. A brunette walked in around 8:30 P.M. He spotted her from the corner of his eye, and his heart shrank to a tiny, glass marble.

Jackie had found him.

But then his intellect overpowered his three-beer buzz. It was still September 8th, _1979,_ and Jackie was in Point Place.

The brunette sat next to him at the bar and ordered him a drink. On day 50, he'd refused the offer and hightailed it to the Sunrise Tavern. This time, though, he accepted.

"I'm Teresa," she said. The voice was different, so were the eyes. But her smile was an easy one, like Jackie's used to be.

"Hyde," he said.

Didn't take long before they retreated to a table in a dark corner. Their beers were forgotten as they began to make out—with full-on body contact; her sitting on his lap, him holding her while their kisses grew deep—and his heart swelled into a bright, hot sun. But the kisses he gave this girl were Jackie's. The warmth flowing into his empty spaces was Jackie's.

163 days, and he still wanted her.

Rowdy nights of drinking and fighting and fucking hadn't freed him. Teresa was willing. He could've nailed her, but that would've bound him closer to Jackie instead of cutting him loose.

His love for Jackie was a rope, man—coiled around his damn neck—and he spent that night in another bar figuring out how to untwist it. There had to be someone else, another chick he gave a crap about. The days he hit New York, he'd searched for Chrissy. But he never found her. No last name, and the number she gave him was still in his cigar box at the Formans'. He didn't have it memorized. Would've been a simple thing to get the slip of paper, but he hadn't been to Point Place since day 6.

On day 164, he finally drove back home. He waited until 9:25 A.M. to leave Kenosha 'cause Jackie would be at her own house by the time he made it to the Formans'. He got to the basement a half-hour later, took Chrissy's number from the cigar box—and ignored everything else that was inside—then called the number. Her now ex-roommate picked up, and from there he went on a wild goose chase of phone numbers and addresses, from state-to-state, over a period of almost two weeks.

Ten-and-a-half hours away in Morgantown, West Virginia, he found her. She was living in a rundown brownstone in a crappy neighborhood. The front door wasn't locked, so he walked right in. The foyer was dark. His instincts shouted danger, but if some psycho-killer were living there, it didn't matter. Hyde had died about a dozen times already.

"Chrissy?" he said into the dark.

A cold hand clamped over his throat. "Who wants to know?" The voice was familiar, female, and aggressive.

"Hyde," he choked out.

The hand released him, and a dim light flickered on. The foyer walls were covered in sloppy black graffiti. A bench by the door was splintered, and a tattered oriental rug sat beneath it. Chrissy stood before him, just as frayed. She was gaunt, and her bony arms were littered with tiny scabs.

"How ya been, Chrissy?" he said.

A faint smile played on her lips, and she punched him lightly in the shoulder. "You finally showed up, huh?" Then, as if a shadow passed underneath her skin, her expression darkened. "Who sent you?"  
 _  
_"Davey," he said. He remembered how paranoid she was, but she'd never directed it at him. It was unsettling. "Gave me the address."

His answer relaxed her face, but her eyes couldn't seem to focus on him. "You're just in time," she said and grasped his hand. She led him up a creaky staircase. His boot crunched on something glass halfway up. He didn't know where—or what—she was leading him too, but it couldn't be any worse than repeating the same day for five months.

Her grip on him loosened once they reached the second floor, and she brought him to a room lit by a single lamp. A guy was sitting on a bed with a blonde. Both were rail-thin and had lighters underneath spoons. Roaches crawled on the floor by their feet, over and inside an open bag of cotton balls

Hyde knew exactly what was going on. The few times his aunt Phyllis had babysat him, she shot up while he watched. Even offered to give him a hit. But at nine-years-old, he was still in his naïve, "Won't touch any of that shit" phase, including booze. He'd seen what it had done to his parents, to her, and he didn't want any part of it.

"Steven," Phyllis had said, bony fingers curling around a syringe, "it's lonely sometimes doing it alone." Her living room was crammed with old newspapers and ratty clothes, smelled like mold. No space to breathe, man. And she was sitting on her worn couch, dull eyes half-closed. "I'll make sure you get only a very little bi—"

"No fucking way," he said, but she didn't accept his refusal. Her skeletal hand clamped on his wrist like a pair of Vice-Grips and drew him close—just as Edna walked in on them.

"What the hell are you doing?" Edna shouted. She yanked Hyde free and chewed Phyllis out for "almost makin' my kid harder to deal with than he already is!" and never let her sister "babysit" again. Even a lush had standards, apparently. But whenever Phyllis visited them, she was strung out.

Ugliest damn woman he'd ever seen.

And Chrissy wasn't far behind. She plucked a cotton ball from the roach-infested bag. Tore the cotton ball in half and stuck the halves onto the spoons. Then she pulled two syringes from behind the bed's headboard.

"You're a junky," Hyde said.

She smiled a small smile. "No, man. That's what the Establishment calls us. We're revolutionaries." She handed the rail-thin guy a syringe. She stuck the other one into the blonde's cotton ball and sucked the heroin into it. "So..." she faced him with the needle pointing up, "you ready to join the revolt?"

Hyde backed away. He was already trapped reliving September 8th like a broken record in hell. Becoming addicted to that crap for all eternity wouldn't make it better.

"Hyde, I thought you were gonna rise up and be part of the revolution," Chrissy said. Her fist was closed, and she was staring down at her scabbed-up arm. "Not letting anyone dictate when you can feel good, _how_ you can feel good—and how _much._ I thought you were cool."

"Yeah," he backed away further until he reached the hallway, "I can't hang out with anyone who says, 'I thought you were cool.' See ya."

But he wouldn't see her again. He got back in the Camino that night and drove until he woke up in Kenosha. Neither Chrissy or her smack could fill his hollow spaces. He didn't know when she'd started up with that shit or why... but what a freakin' waste, man. Every damn day of her life—September 8th and afterward—was gonna be a waste.

He didn't spend much thought on what he'd found, but discovering her that way had shocked his system, thrown a stark light on his last few months. He felt like a rat stuck in a maze, having sniffed out 176 dead ends. But every maze had a solution, right? Or a piece of cheese at the end. There had to be something he was supposed to do, with tomorrow being the reward instead of cheese.

He'd tried the selfish asshole route. So after five months, he went the other way, helping old ladies cross the street, keeping them from being mugged in bad neighborhoods. Six weeks of good deeds, man, and one late night he ended up in an Elkhart, Illinois parking lot.

It had been a long day of picking up trash around the village, fixing people's cars, and doing similar crap like that. He was ready to get in the Camino and drive back to Kenosha, but a woman's muffled screams reached him in the parking lot. He found her on the pavement behind a Minivan, knees spread apart with some douchebag plowing into her—raping her. The guy was wearing a black sweatshirt, and his jeans were bunched up at the ankles. He didn't seem to have a weapon, but Hyde would've acted the same either way. The sight of the woman's helpless body heated his blood, scalded his mind until all he could see was red.

He yanked the bastard off her and smashed his face into the asphalt. The guy's skull was a pulpy mess when he finished, but the woman was long-gone. Hyde left the scene himself, drove off in the Camino with blood-smeared hands and grayish bits sticking to his fingers.

Ten minutes later, he abandoned the car and hid out at Elkhart Hill Cemetery. He sat against a cold gravestone, smoked his joints to nubs. They kept him from thinking too hard about what had happened. "Tomorrow," he said to the night air. "All I need is tomorrow, man."

He woke in the motel the next morning with a clear head. It was September 8th again, and that woman hadn't been raped yet; her rapist was still alive. But Hyde couldn't go back and save her. He'd kill the fucker each time. So every September 8th afterward, he called the Elkhart police around 1:15 A.M., hoping they'd get to the bastard before he got to her.

Before the incident in the parking lot, Hyde had never known he was capable of that kind of rage. It scared the hell outta him—and made him finally miss his friends. Though he didn't go back to see them, he began to call 'em up regularly, even Kelso. But Kelso didn't let Hyde speak until he spoke, and Kelso said the same damn thing every time:

"Jackie and I didn't do it, okay? She wanted me to tell you that. She's been crying all day, man. Especially 'cause I told her you were gonna propose."

So Hyde quit calling him. Fez was almost as bad. "Jackie is so upset Why don't you come home?"

But talking to Donna was pretty cool. She mentioned Jackie, talked about Forman, but listened when Hyde told her about the people he'd helped or where he'd driven to.

"I can't believe you stopped six muggings!" she said on the 231st September 8th. "Wow... imagine what you could do if you'd actually _caught_ Jackie and Kelso sleeping togeth—sorry."

Hyde called Mrs. Forman once—and __only__ once—in the evening, and she begged him to come home. Evidently, some woman had died in the hospital earlier in the day, and Mrs. Forman seemed pretty broken up about it.

"Life is so precious, Steven," she'd cried into the phone. "My baby boy's taken a year of his life from me to go teach math to some damn elephants! Time is all we have. You never know when it'll be cut short by a—by a car or—or—or a bunch of strangers who won't even listen to you!"

Calling Red wasn't much better. "The loud one's bad enough when she's happy," he said. "But now she's crying all over my damn furniture. A man can handle only one sobbing mess at a time, Steven, and Kitty's mine. Get home and take care of yours, or I'll kick your ass so hard you'll end up in Africa with Eric."

Hyde was even desperate enough to call Bob—but hung up on him within the first minute. "Pammy gave me car sex last night!" Bob said. "Hey, you date her daughter—how should I go about getting Pam back for good? She's so darned feisty..."

By day 265, Hyde felt like a tiny speck in a giant chasm. There were too many people in freakin' need, and only one of him. No way he could help them all or choose who to help. And he was still stuck in the same damn Saturday.

That morning, he went back to Sam's apartment after a quick breakfast. He didn't kiss her; he was done with that, but he sat down at the table covered in colorful fabric. He let her and the other strippers ask him his opinion on sequins and tassels.

Then, about ten minutes into the conversation, he said, "What's up with your husband?"

Sam dropped the square of black fabric she was holding. "Wh-what do you mean? I'm not married."

"It's okay, man," he said and took her hands gently. "I just figured a girl like you had to be married. You're too, um..." Sam was trembling, and he ransacked his brain for the right words, " _ _nice__ not to have been picked up."

"Did he send you?" she said.

"What?"

She stood up from the table and pulled away from him. "I think you should leave."

"Sam—"

"I don't have it yet, okay? Just get out!"

The other strippers rose from their chairs, too. "Go," one of them said. They formed a protective wall in front of Sam, and all he could see was a glimpse of her blonde hair.

"You better be the only goon Wayne sends!" another stripper shouted. "'Cause I've got a gun, and I know how to use it."

"I can't believe he found me," Sam cried.

He backed off, "I'm goin', I'm goin'," and left the apartment, but Sam's fear dogged his brain until he fell asleep that night. Wayne had to be her husband, and he had to be a bad guy.

Hyde returned to Sam's the next day, but asking her deal outright wouldn't work. He had to earn her trust first.

The moment she opened the door, he cupped her face and kissed her.

"Wow. I mean... __wow,__ " Sam said when they parted. "I almost never let guys kiss me anymore, but..." She kissed him again, like she always did afterward, and he held her tightly. "Hyde," she whispered and pulled him into the apartment, "no one's... No one kisses me like this."

"Then you've had some real dickheads kissing you, man."

The other strippers put their hands on their hearts and said, "Aww..."

"Do you want coffee," Sam said. She smoothed down the front of his red Allman Brothers Band shirt. "Anything to eat?"

Her words and actions filled his senses with déjà vu, but he took off his shades and looked deep into her eyes. What the hell had he said the day he'd gotten her to "marry" him?

Right...

"Ate breakfast already, but there __is__ something I want."

Sam's legs buckled, but he caught her in time. "Come with me," she said and brought him into her bedroom.

He took control immediately. He lay her down on the bed, on the thin comforter, and slipped off her top. He hadn't had sex since the long-haired blonde in South Dakota. He just didn't want to, __still__ didn't want to.

But his goal today wasn't to get himself off. It was to get information. He gave attention to Sam's breasts, enough to make her breaths grow short; then he traveled south, where his mouth made contact between her legs.

She gasped in surprise at his touch. "Oh, my God... it's... it's... so long since someone did..."

He varied the speed and movement of his tongue, the pressure of his lips, all to keep her from coming too fast. He wanted her to get as much out of this as possible—'cause it seemed like she didn't get much from anywhere else.

Her thighs eventually squeezed the sides of his head, and she clutched at his hair. Her steady moans grew into a frantic, "Oh, God! Oh, God!" And after a final wordless cry, her body relaxed.

He kissed her warmth one last time before crawling onto the bed. He hoped to get the conversation started, but her fingers flew to his belt buckle.

"You already gave me plenty," he said and stopped her. In truth, her pleasure had given him almost nothing, but it was a means to an end.

He leaned back on her pillows, gestured for her to join him. She settled into the crook of his arm and sighed. "I could marry a guy like you."

__Bingo._ _

He spoke into her cheek. "As opposed to...?"

"Hyde," her voice wavered, "did you ever make a mistake, a big, __long__ mistake?"

"Uh..." __just his whole damn life,__ "sure."

She glanced up at him, and her palm lay flat on top of his stomach. "I met mine seven years ago in Vegas. I was sixteen, and he let me strip in his club. __U__ _ _gh!__ " She hid her face in his side. "I was so dumb, Hyde. He treated me like a queen, buying me jewelry, letting me stay in his fancy hotel suite. It didn't matter that he was a horrible lover—God, he was bad—because I thought he loved me."

Hyde's pulse sped up. Her story sounded familiar, reminded him of some of his relatives.

She continued. "I became Mrs. Wayne Gandler on my eighteenth birthday. On our honeymoon, I found him screwing another woman—she wasn't even a woman. She was a kid. But I stayed with him because..."

"You loved him."

'Yeah..." Sam slid her hand over Hyde's chest, and he grasped it. "Pretty stupid, huh? He kept giving me mixed signals. Like, he'd give me the best shifts at the club when the whales came by from the casinos. But then he'd shout at me for the smallest things like wearing black tassels when he was 'in a red mood,' and sometimes he'd—he'd—"

Hyde squeezed her hand. "Yeah, I get it." The bastard used to hit her. Vegas was over a day's drive from Kenosha. But if Hyde could've gotten there, he would've returned every knock her husband had doled out.

"Eventually," she said, "I couldn't stand it, his cheating and his— _ _him.__ I convinced a regular at the club to take me out of Vegas. I ended up here."

"Why didn't you just divorce the asshole?"

"I can't afford it."

"You need a lawyer or something?"

Sam sat up from the bed and picked her underwear off the floor. "Oh, he's willing to give me a divorce."

"So what's the deal?"

"I..."

"Sam, what is it?"

She lowered her gaze and pulled on her underwear. "My brother. He got into trouble with a couple of sharks. Wayne bailed him out."

"For how much?"

"Too much."

Hyde's fists clenched. Why couldn't chicks ever give a straight answer? " _ _How much,__ Sam?"

"Sixty grand." She walked to her chipped dresser and grabbed a pair of jeans from a drawer. "Wayne saved my brother's life, but now I can't have mine. Won't give me a divorce until the money's paid back. I've got a little over five thousand saved up... I'd be making twice what I make now if I were still in Vegas, but I just couldn't stay. "

"Hold on here. Your asshole husband expects..." He stood up and began to pace the room. He felt like a caged tiger. Sam's life __was__ a cage. And Chrissy's, and those of countless others he'd met over the last half-year. "Why the hell do you have to pay off your brother's debt?"

"Andrew doesn't have enough. He never will." Sam was fully dressed now and playing with the fringe of her sleeve. "He stopped gambling, but he drinks, and—"

Hyde didn't need to hear anymore. He slipped his shades back on. "How long did it take to make the five grand?"

"About three months." She went to the door and rested her hand on the doorknob. "I'll pay Wayne off. Not soon, but it'll happen. I wish I could make more, but the only way I know how is to... well, hook."

"Sam..."

She wrinkled her nose, "I did that a few times, and never again." A heavy sigh pulled out of her, and it made her look older. Far older than she deserved to look. "I should've finished high school, graduated instead of running away. My mom misses me, you know. She said I could come back, but I can't until this is done."

"Where's your mom?" he said.

"Tuscon." A smile crept over her face. "It would be great to go back, now that my father's gone."  
 _  
_Sam opened the door, and Hyde followed her to the living room. The other strippers were still at the table, sewing and gossiping. But they turned their attention toward him and Sam.

"How was he, honey?" one of the strippers said.

Sam snaked her arms around Hyde's waist. "Wonderful."

"Wonderful, huh?" The stripper's expression brightened and beamed in Hyde's direction. "You got another round in you?" She thrust her hips back and forth on the chair. "'Cause it's been a while since I've had a good screw."

"Thanks, man, but I got an errand to run." He took both of Sam's hands. "Will you still be here in a half-hour?"

"Sure. Why?"

"'Cause I'm gonna be back."

" _ _Ooh!__ _"_ the strippers called after him.

Hyde got to the bank at 10:52 A.M. A little over seven grand was in his account, and he withdrew sixty-five hundred of it—saving some for himself in case he woke up tomorrow, September 9th.

Twenty minutes later, he was back at Sam's apartment. "Let's go to your room, okay?" he said to her.

"That's what I want, too," she said. "I owe you."

"No, you don't."

Once they were in the privacy of her bedroom, he pulled out an envelope of thirteen 500-dollar bills. "Here," he said.

She took the envelope hesitantly and looked inside. "Hyde!" she shouted, but her face showed no relief.

"If I had more, I'd give it to ya. But that's pretty much all I got."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Why not?"

"Because!" She peered back inside the envelope. "No one does this. __No one.__ Not without wanting something."

"Just want you to be cool, man. Figure that'll cut a half-year off your sentence."

"N-no. This doesn't happen." Sam's chest rose and fell rapidly; she was hyperventilating. "Wh-who are you?"

"Someone who knows what it's like to be trapped." He stroked her arms, hoping it would calm her. "It's okay."

She thrust the envelope at his stomach. "Take it."

"What?"

"I can't take this," she said.

"Yeah, you can." He gave the envelope back, but she pushed it away.

"Hyde, no. You can't come in here, make me feel better than maybe I've __ever__ felt, then give me your savings and ask for nothing."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because men don't do that."

He arched an eyebrow. "This guy does."

"Oh, God." She buried her face in her hands and sank to the bed.

"Hey..." He sat next to her but didn't know if he should touch her or not. She was sobbing lightly, and he flicked the envelope's flap.

"You can't do this to me," she said after a minute. "You can't."

"Do what? Give you some damn help?"

"No!" She glared at him. Her eyes were wet and red. "Don't give me the idea that men like you are out there. What's the likelihood I'll ever meet someone like you again?"

He laughed. "You got it all wrong, baby. I'm no good in the long haul."

"I don't buy that for a second."

"Fine. I'll give you a fuckin' example. See, I had this chick, but..." His throat started to close up; he forced his voice to push through it. "But before she was my chick, I couldn't stand her. Hell, I basically hated her 'cause she was bitchy and controlling, and she... whatever. But every time she cried, I kept helpin' her out. Somehow I knew what to say or what to do to make her feel better."

"That sounds really good," Sam said.

"Yeah, and the second we got into an actual relationship—" he snapped his fingers, "nothin'."

"You didn't help her anymore?"

"It was the weirdest thing, man. Shit just came to me before we were together. But when she became my chick, her tears shut me down."

He scratched the back of his neck. _Man,_ did his throat feel tight. He'd never said this crap out loud before, and he focused on a mousetrap by the dresser.

"Should've been the other way around," he said. "She had to 'retrain' me."

"And you let her?"

"For a while."

Sam remained silent for a moment. "You still love her."

"Nah. I don't love anyone."

"That's it, isn't it?" She nodded slowly, as if she'd made a big discovery. "Why you're being so nice to me. You did something to lose her, and you're trying to make up for it."

"No, she lost __me.__ _"_ He rose from the bed and tossed the thick envelope onto it. "Take the money or don't." Then he left the apartment without looking back.

The next day, he woke up in the Shooting Star Motel even though he'd "fallen asleep" driving the Camino. He ate breakfast at the Birch Road Café down the street, tried to figure out his next move, but something about "yesterday" wouldn't let him go. He found himself at Sam's apartment again, regaining her trust exactly as he had the day before. But this time when he went to the bank, he withdrew his entire savings.

"Listen," he said back in Sam's bedroom, "I wanna help you out, okay?" He hadn't taken out the envelope yet.

"What are you talking about?" she said.

"Your husband needs his ass kicked, but since I can't do that..." He gave her the envelope. "Seven thousand, three-hundred-and-sixty-eight bucks." Sam's mouth dropped open, but he continued. "Don't say you can't take it. Or that guys don't do this kind of shit for free 'cause that's bull. You've just met some crappy—"

Sam burst into tears. "You can't do this to me! You can't."

He groaned. "Come on..."

"No!" She glared at him, just like yesterday. "Don't give me the idea that men like you are out there. What's the likelihood I'll ever meet someone like you again?"

"If it can happen once," he said, "it can happen twice."

"Uh-uh." She sagged morosely against the wall. "You only get one chance with a guy like you. And I'll never see you again after today. I just know it."

"Crap." He pulled her into his arms. He didn't know if it was her tears, but he felt the overwhelming need to comfort her.

"Hyde," she was crying into his shoulder, "this makes it so much worse! Oh, my God..." She full-out sobbed into his neck. "Have you—have you ever had a girlfriend?"

"Yeah."

"For how long?"

"Three years," he said. "The last one kinda sucked."

"She must have gone crazy when you broke up." Sam held onto him tighter, but her crying had calmed down. "I've known you for a day, and __I'm__ feeling crazy. Were you in love with her?"

"Too much."

That seemed to be the wrong answer. Fresh sobs poured from Sam's chest, and it took a while before they dried up. Once she could speak again, she said, "Why did the last year suck?"

"I don't know."

"You're lying."

"I'm not," he said and gently pushed her away. "Something changed."

The room filled with silence—until Sam grabbed a small towel from her dresser and blew her nose. "Didn't you try to fix it?" she said.

"Yeah. She was too stubborn."

"About what?"

He glanced at his watch, but he wasn't really looking. "Marriage."

Sam gasped. "She wanted to marry you?"

"I don't know."

"Oh! You wanted to marry __her.__ _"_

"I don't know."

"Hyde!" She whipped the snotty towel at him, and he backed away. "Which is it? Did she want to marry you—or you her?"

Hyde slumped onto the bed and ran a hand over his face. "Look, Jackie wanted to—she wanted to get married, but I'm not sure if it was to me, okay? And I did wanna marry her—well, more like I didn't see a future __without__ her. But then she got all crazy, and the future I saw turned to hell."

"Why'd she go crazy?" Sam said.

"'Cause she's nuts."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I've got."

"Then __how__ did she go crazy?"

He sighed. The questions Sam was asking didn't piss him off. They'd risen in his own mind often, like corpses crawling out of their graves, but he'd always reburied them without answers. Reburied and reburied... just like he'd woken up and woken up in the Shooting Star Motel.

"For starters," he said, "she pretended to be someone else so she could go to a wedding. Kept getting wrapped up in 'high society' bullshit, trying to impress headcases who put her down for not being engaged or not having a guy with her every damn second."

" _ _Hmm...__ " Sam left the snotty towel on the dresser and sat next to him, "and she wasn't like that before?"

"Yeah, but I trained it outta her."

"So she forgot?"

"Seems like it." He smiled thinly. "Guess we both forgot some things."

Sam fell quiet a moment. Then, "Something must have happened to make her do that."

"Maybe."

"Hyde," she turned and patted his knees, "things happen for a reason. I ran from home because my father was like Wayne."

He nodded. He understood what she meant, at least about her dad. But not how it applied to Jackie or why he was stuck in this damn day.

"Your ex must have gotten scared," she said.

"Probably," he said and stood up, "but it doesn't matter anymore. We've been over for almost a year."

"But you're not over her."

The words struck him like a knee to the 'nads—but he didn't bolt this time. He stared at the peeling white paint of the wall.

"You're as trapped as me," Sam said.

"Yeah..." He returned his focus to her. Gestured for her to stand up, which she did. Then he cradled her face in his hands and kissed her softly. "You're gonna get out," he said. "You've got a lot more to offer this world than your body."

Her eyes grew wet again. "Hyde..."

"Take the money. And it's Steven."

"Hy— _ _Steven,__ I can't take your money."

"Would it make you feel any better if you blew me?

She laughed. "Quite a lot, actually."

He let her. After that conversation, he needed the release. But the sensations her mouth created, the pleasure it gave him—instead of causing mindless peace—brought an awareness he couldn't deny anymore: The emptiness inside him had become an __ache.  
__

* * *

Mornings 268-274 were spent:

• Withdrawing $6000 from the bank.  
• Writing an anonymous note that said "For your future."  
• Putting a bunch of packing peanuts into a cardboard box.  
• Burying the note and wad of bills into the packing peanuts.  
• Addressing the box to Samantha Gandler.  
• And sending it off.

Afternoons 267-274 were spent trying to smoke the ache away with his stash, and the evenings were spent boozing.

But he woke on day 275 with an overwhelming feeling of futility. Nothing moved forward when he was high or drunk—especially when he was alone. His week of numbing himself had only delayed the inevitable.

He sent the package of money to Sam that morning, and a few minutes later, he was in the Camino... driving back to Point Place.


	8. A Fraying Thread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. "Come In From The Rain" (C) The Captain and Tennille; 1977 A &M Records.

CHAPTER 8  
 **A FRAYING THREAD**

__Day 275._ _

_8:35 A.M._

_Green Bay Road._   
**...**

Traffic on the highway was bottlenecked to a slug's pace, and Hyde spotted the cause through the Camino's windshield: Crunched-up Mazda kissing the ass of a Dodge Ramcharger. The two cars were in the middle of the road, but the S.U.V. was the real problem. And its burly owner was advancing menacingly on the Mazda's scrawny owner.

__Right.__ Now Hyde remembered. He'd passed by this accident nine months ago, on three September 8ths.

This time, he pulled up behind the accident—on the shoulder so he didn't block traffic himself. Then he got out of the Camino and walked alongside the Mazda. Its front end was totaled, but the passenger-side had borne the brunt of the crash. The driver's side window was cracked with several potato-sized holes, and he peered inside.

A woman was slumped over the dashboard, on the passenger seat. A rosary dangled from the rearview mirror into her face, and her forehead looked as if it had fallen into a can of violet paint—a deep bruise.

A sharp chill scrabbled up Hyde's spine. This had to be one of the "senseless deaths" Mrs. Forman told him about the day Jackie had offed herself... on day 6.

"You're gonna pay for a new bumper, dickhead!" the S.U.V.'s owner shouted, and he shoved the Mazda's owner backward—into Hyde.

"Oh, God." The scrawny guy jerked around and grabbed Hyde by the shirt. "You have to help me! Sarah—my wife—I have to get her to a hospital. But this assh—this __man__ just wants to fight and won't move his car." He turned back around, "Move your damn car!" and lunged for the burly S.U.V. owner.

Hyde stepped between them before either could throw a punch. "Hey," he said calmly, "what're your names?"

"Chad," the S.U.V.'s owner said, as if it were an automatic reflex.

"Ben... Hobart, but what—"

"Okay, Mr. Hobart, you gotta step back, man," Hyde said and hooked his shades onto his shirt collar, "'cause I'm gonna take care of this."

Mr. Hobart walked back to the Mazda without argument, but Chad shouted, "What about my bumper?"

"Yeah..." Hyde clutched his belt buckle and tilted his head, "Chad,you're gonna get in your car, and you're gonna drive it onto the shoulder, right behind that tree there. Otherwise, you're gonna need a hospital, too."

"You serious?" Chad's mouth cracked into a smile. He was shorter than Hyde by a few inches, but he was also bigger—half-muscle, half-fat. "Sure," he said and gestured to himself. "Try it. 'Cause I ain't going nowhere until I get some cash or take it out of his hide."

"His 'hide,' huh?" Hyde was smiling now, too. "What a coincidence... 'cause _Hyde's_ gonna kick your ass."

Chad screwed up his face as if he didn't get the joke—and his confusion gave Hyde time enough to move in close, bring back his knee, and smash him in the stones. When the first strike didn't bring him down, Hyde did it again—and Chad sank to the pavement with a grunt.

But the bastard wasn't out. His hand clamped down on Hyde's ankle and forced him to the ground through pain. Hyde stifled a curse, tried to pry Chad's fingers off him, and they sprang open—only to form a fist that rammed straight into his ribs.

A throbbing burn expanded outward into Hyde's stomach and back, but nothing felt like it had cracked. __Man,__ was this guy pissing him off. He would've liked to take his time here, to dissect Chad's weaknesses. But unlike all the drunken bar fights he'd gotten into, this brawl had a purpose. It had to be short and dirty.

Chad punched him in the side again, sending more pain into his ribs, but Hyde rolled with the momentum onto his back. The pavement was hard beneath his head, and Chad was on top of him in a blink.

__Good._ _

"You little punk," Chad said. "You think 'cause you're a few years younger 'an me, you got something _over_ on me?" His meaty fingers dug into Hyde's shoulder and pressed him down. "Well, I'm gonna teach ya better."

The bastard drew back his thick arm but held it in place. He wasn't done talking yet—exactly what Hyde was counting on.

"Yeah," Chad said, "two punches, and you're already on your back like a whore." His arm sank a little, and he laughed gruffly. "A Goddam who—"

Hyde slammed a fist into Chad's throat, causing his eyes to bulge and a strangled gasp to leave him. Rough coughs pushed out of his lungs, but the sonuvabitch was still on his knees. So Hyde tackled him to the pavement.

Cars were honking at them, and Mr. Hobart kept shouting, "His keys! Get his keys!" but Hyde wasn't taking any chances. He straddled Chad's thick torso and slugged him in the jaw—over and over—until the coughs stopped and it was clear Chad had fallen unconscious.

"Asshole," Hyde said and rubbed his knuckles. Then he put his shades back on.

Leftover adrenaline made his hands shake as he searched Chad for his car keys. Mr. Hobart crouched down and helped him look, but Hyde found them in Chad's jeans pocket.

"Hey," Hyde said to Mr. Hobart, "I'll get you an ambulance, but we gotta drag that douchebag off the road."

They pulled Chad's hefty body onto the shoulder together, and Hyde glanced protectively at the Camino. He hated to abandon her here. She was his baby—and his most constant companion during the last nine months—but she was only steel. Mr. Hobart's wife was flesh and blood.

"Please hurry," Mr. Hobart said as Hyde got into the S.U.V.

"Yeah." Hyde shut the door and started up the engine. He was surprised at how clean the inside of the car was. Though he hadn't smelled any alcohol on Chad's breath, he'd expected to see at least an empty beer bottle or two.

He spared a last glimpse at Mr. Hobart, who was walking back to the Mazda. Chad was lying between the Camino and the bushes lining the shoulder, but who knew how long he'd stay knocked out?

"Hobart!" Hyde shouted out the S.U.V.'s window. "If the bastard wakes up, kick him in the face."

8:54 A.M.

Hyde had driven the S.U.V. into Point Place and parked it on Pine Avenue, by the first payphone he spotted. He called the hospital where Mrs. Forman worked, emergency services, and told them about the accident. Then he waited. His knuckles were sore from the fight, and his ribs hurt a little when he breathed, but his body felt fine otherwise.

His mind, though, wasn't doing so hot. The urge to spark up a joint or get wasted—or do anything that would numb him—grappled with his need to find a permanent solution to his problems. So he focused on the pain in his hand, on the bruise forming over his ribs, until an ambulance finally blared down Pine Avenue. It was six minutes after he'd made the call.

9:12 A.M.

The hospital elevator opened on the third floor, and the smell of disinfectant rushed into Hyde's nose, and the strong ceiling lights were dimmed by his shades. He hadn't wanted to come here again, considering what he'd seen the last time, but he couldn't get the image of Mrs. Hobart out of his head. She'd looked half-dead in the wrecked Mazda, and he had to find out what happened to her.

Mrs. Forman was standing at the nurses' station, studying some papers. But she must have spotted Hyde in her peripheral vision because her eyes shot up, and her expression brightened.

"Hey, Mrs. Forman," he said.

"Steven!" She stepped out from the nurses' desk and hurried to him. "You didn't have to come all the way to the hospital. A phone call that you were home would've been enough."

"Yeah—"

She enclosed him in a constricting hug. "I was so upset my other boy left the same day as Eric, but you're here now," her arms squeezed tighter around his bruised ribs, "and I'm so happy!"

"I'm glad, Mrs. Forman, but could you—you're kinda hurting me."

"Oh!" She let go of him and started to laugh. "I'm sorry, honey. It's just—I can't believe you're here. It feels like you've been gone for a lot longer than a night."

He touched his side, and it stung at the slight pressure. "Feels like that to me, too."

"How was Chicago?" she said, and then she gasped. "How's Jackie? Did you two patch things up?"

"Uh, not yet." He suppressed a scowl. Why the hell did everyone ask about her? "There was this accident—"

She gasped again. "Is it Jackie? Oh, my God, what happened? Is she all right?"

"Jackie's got nothin' to do with it."

Nurses scurried to and fro on the hospital floor as he told Mrs. Forman about the Hobarts and the asshole, Chad. Patients were being pushed down hallways on wheelchairs, and orderlies carried food trays in and out of rooms. He described Mrs. Hobart's forehead bruise, "Like someone had hit her with a hammer."

"Was she conscious?" Mrs. Forman said.

"No."

Her face fell a little, and she rubbed Hyde's shoulder. "Why don't you go home, and I'll call you about Mrs. Hobart's status as soon as I can. She'll be brought to the ER first."

"But I—"

Mrs. Forman checked her watch. "I have to get back to work, sweetie." But then her eyes shone wetly in the bright hospital lights. "That man, he didn't punch you in the head, did he? Because that could cause a concussion or—"

"Just two hits right here." Hyde pointed to his side.

"Lift your arms above your head." Her tone left no room for argument, so he did as she said. "How does that feel?"

"Like I got punched in the ribs."

"Steven." She sighed. "Is the pain worse? Is it difficult to breathe?"

"No, I'm breathing fine, man. Just feels like a bruise."

"Then they're probably not broken." Her smile finally returned, and he put down his arms. "Follow me." She led him to the nurse's station, where a young nurse stood with a patient's chart in her hands. "Excuse me, Priscilla," Mrs. Forman said and pulled something from a cabinet behind the desk.

"Take this," she handed him an instant cold pack, "and use it at home—over your shirt or covered in a dishtowel, okay? I'm going to make your favorite dinner tonight. What you did today—" Her palms went to his cheeks, and she kissed him lightly on the lips. "You're a hero, Steven. No wonder that girl loves you."

Hyde almost eased into the warmth she was showing him, but then she'd had to put in that last part. It made his insides feel warped, like they were puzzle pieces mashed into the wrong places. Made him want to bolt. Without responding to her praise, he thanked her for the cold pack and brought it with him to the elevators.

9:33 A.M.

Hyde parked the S.U.V. on the shoulder of Green Bay Road, right behind the Camino. Thankfully, his baby hadn't been towed away yet, unlike the wrecked Mazda. Chad was gone; the ambulance must have picked him up with the Hobarts. Whatever. The bastard would probably get better than he deserved.

Hyde walked toward the Camino and tossed the S.U.V.'s keys into some bushes. At least Chad would lose more than a bumper today.

9:54 A.M.

It felt nice to be driving his own car again instead of that clunky Ramcharger. He knew the Camino's every quirk, what every rattle and clatter meant; how long she could go on fumes and what kind of oil she liked. On his longer trips he'd talk to her—and, like the best kind of girl, she never spoke back.

But he could've used her input before they'd driven off the highway. He was only a few blocks from the Formans', but Jackie wouldn't be there. She'd be at her own house by now. He made a left on 92nd Avenue and headed toward the richer part of town. Too much wasted time, man.

10:08 A.M.

Hyde stepped onto the Burkharts' front porch and rang the doorbell. Pam opened the door a minute later. "Well, hello," she said. "You're Jackie's friend... Sven, right?"

"Yeah." He focused on the Moroccan-themed floor tile inside the house. "Can I come in?"

"Please." She led him into the living room, and he kept his head down. Very close to the front door was a pink suitcase. It had to be Jackie's. "I didn't expect her to come home so soon," Pam said, "but she got in about twenty minutes ago."

__Twenty-six,__ he thought and averted his gaze from the white couch. What he'd done there, with _her,_ hadn't left him. Even after 270 days. And the thick, woody scent of her perfume made the memories burst vividly in his mind.

"I tried to talk to her," Pam's voice trilled in his ears, slightly slurred, "but she just ran upstairs and locked herself in her room. I think she was crying. Do you think—maybe you can make her feel better." She touched his shoulder, and he flinched. "Goodness! You're so tense."

"Had a rough morning." He slid his hand over the staircase's ornately-carved bannister. "I'll go check on her."

"Thank you, Sven," she said. Her footsteps clacked away from him, followed by the sound of a drink being poured.

Hyde climbed the stairs, and a muffled, schmaltzy melody reached him through Jackie's door. He recognized the song, much to his disdain. Jackie had played it for him more than once.

_"It's a long, long road when you're all alone,"_ the song warbled at him, _"and a man like you will always choose the long way home."_

He shuddered—The Captain & Tennille—and knocked on her door. No answer except the music's volume was ratcheted up.

_"There's no right or wrong. I'm not here to blame..."_ He banged on the door as the song continued. _"I just wanna be the one who keeps you from the rain."_ _ _  
__ _  
_He banged on the door again. Jackie's scream cut through the music: "Go away!"

"Jackie," he shouted back, "open the door!"

The song immediately shut off, and the door whipped open. Jackie was standing there, but she flung her arms around his neck before he had a chance to see her. He brought her closer—though his ribs hurt at the contact—until their chests were touching. Each of her breaths pressed her tightly against him, sending warmth into his body, and the ache inside him finally dulled.

"Hey," he said, but she was crying into his cheek. He let himself comfort her, stroked her back. She felt so damn good in his arms. Maybe too damn good. He walked them both into her room and kicked the door closed.

"Steven," Jackie withdrew from him a little, and he finally saw her eyes—beautiful... and afraid, "I am so sorry about what happened in Chi—"

"Don't." He kissed her, using the whole of his mouth. It felt like home... __almost.__ He didn't let her up for air, didn't want to hear her speak. The moment she talked, everything would go to crap. But soon she tapped his chest, letting him know she needed a break. He gave it to her.

"Why?" Jackie said breathlessly. "Why are you—" but he pressed a finger to his lips, hoping to keep her quiet. "Stev—"

He pressed his finger to her lips. "Keep your trap shut, okay?"

"But—"

"Jackie, if you want this to work, you gotta shut up."

She nodded, and he left her to lock the door. Then he flipped through her albums—Donny Osmond, The Pretenders, freakin' __ABBA—__ and found her sole Rolling Stones record. He'd given it to her for his own survival and was a little surprised she still had it. But he put it on her stereo, thankful she hadn't chucked it.

Jackie stepped toward him. "Stev—"

_" _Shh__ _..."_ he said and went to her bed. A small cigar box was on it, much like the one he kept under his cot. Cards he once gave her and scraps of paper with his scrawl were strewn over the comforter—along with a golden grasshopper pendant. He'd bought it for her on a day that had no meaning, except for being the latest in a string of really nice days...

Hell, they were the best damn days he'd had in his life.

He placed everything back in the cigar box as Jackie watched, put the box on her nightstand. Then he opened the nightstand drawer. Inside was her stash of rubbers. He pulled one out and left it on top of the cigar box.

Jackie was tapping her bare foot, a habit she indulged in when she was upset and wanted to stay quiet. He cupped her face and kissed her, tenderly this time.

But it didn't feel right. He strengthened the kiss until she moaned into his mouth and sank to the bed. He didn't join her there; and, for a while, she gazed at him in a kind of lusty stupor. But, after she inhaled a sharp breath, she said, "Does this mean you still want to marr—"

He held a shushing finger to his lips again.

She grunted and clutched the comforter. Keeping quiet had to be torture for her, but that wasn't his intention, not anymore. He sat down on the bed, slid his hands to the small of her back and coaxed a smile out of her. She took his shades off him, which deepened her smile, and he drew her body flush against him.

Nothing had replaced this, had replaced __her__ these last nine months. Her fingertips brushed lightly over his jawline, and that simple touch satiated him more completely than nailing a dozen girls at once had—than nailing any of the countless chicks he'd met.

He swept his lips down Jackie's cheek and made her gasp as his teeth grazed her earlobe. Gasps were fine. So were moans. Words were the problem, and he didn't give her the opportunity to say any. He sucked on her neck, on the sensitive hollow of her throat, causing her breaths to grow ragged and her hands to grasp tightly at his back. His kisses were intense when he returned to her mouth, but she matched their power and surpassed it, forcing him to stop and pull in a lungful of air.

She giggled—that was okay, too—as he lowered her to the pillows. But making out wasn't enough for him, not after so damn long. He needed more of her. He lifted off her top, the navy blue one with the white anchors. She must have worn it 270 times in a row, and he chuckled at the thought. She would've freaked had she known.

Jackie sat up a little, probably spurred on by his laughter. "What are y—"

He silenced her with another kiss. But before his tongue could make contact, hers slid deftly between his parted lips and stole his breath. He was happy to lose it. Since their first kiss on her father's Lincoln, no girl had matched her.

His hands reached underneath Jackie's back and unhooked her bra, and he lost his breath again. Her breasts were small and round and rose-tipped and freakin' perfect—mostly because they belonged to her. He knew just how they'd feel in his hands, how to roll and lick their peaks until her voice cried out and her fingers dug into his scalp. They beat out every set of breasts he'd seen or caressed or tasted the last nine months...

And he couldn't bring himself to touch them.

He shifted his focus lower. Her hips and thighs were clad in denim, a pair of jeans. He yanked them off, revealing red cotton panties. The sight of them should have increased his joy same as it increased his hard-on. But his heart was swelling with something darker, something dangerous _ _,__ _l_ ike a balloon inflating with poisonous gas.

Jackie eyes widened when his fingers slipped beneath her panties. He pushed them down past her butt—and no further. She'd squeezed her knees together.

"Steven, what is goi—"

"Man," he said, "can't you keep your piehole shut for more than five minutes?"

"No, I can't! What do you think you're doing?"

He climbed off the bed and backed away. "You got a choice, Jackie: You can ask me a question, __one__ question, or you can be with me. But if you ask me the wrong question, I'm leaving the second I give the answer."

She opened her mouth but no sound came out. Then she shrugged and threw up her hands. "Okay." Her voice was pained, as if she were on the verge of tears.

Hyde searched himself for sympathy... and found nothing. "Get on your stomach," he said.

She did as he told her, and he pulled off her panties. Soon, they lay at the bottom of a heap that included his jeans and boxers. He grabbed the rubber from the top of the cigar box, tore it from the package, and sheathed his erection inside.

Jackie was completely naked and exposed. __Silent.__ He took one of her pillows and placed it beneath her hips. Then he crawled over her back and positioned himself near the apex of her thighs.

He was gonna fuck her. If she didn't pipe up, ask him something, or tell him not to, he was gonna fuck away all the meaning she had to him. Kissing her was only half right, as was holding her, looking at her. A fuck would make it all wrong: Pleasure without connection, and passion without love.

His arms supported his weight by her shoulders. His hips eased forward...

"What's the right question?" Jackie whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

Relief hit him like grenade, causing his eyes to shut and his pounding heart to slow. He pushed himself off her, off the bed, and slid off the rubber. Then he pulled on his boxers, his jeans.

Jackie rolled onto her back and sat up. "What's the right question, Steven?"

He crossed his arms defensively. "How about asking me what __I__ fucking want _—_ without thinking about your own damn self for once, without shoving what _you_ want down my fucking throat?"

"What __do__ you want?" she said, but he went to the door and unlocked it, walked out. "Steven!"

"One question You asked it."

He reached the bottom of the stairs, but she caught his arm. "Please!" she said. He glanced at her; she was still naked. "Steven, what do you want?"

He ripped her hand off him. "I want you to fucking get it!"

"Then tell me!"

"Do you have any Goddamn idea what you've done?"

Jackie's face flushed, and tears tracked wetly down her cheeks. "I didn't do it, baby. I swear! Michael was just—"

"Not that." He grabbed her elbow and yanked her across the living room. The time read 10:27 A.M. on the grandfather clock, and Pam was nowhere to be seen. _"Before,_ Jackie. Before Chicago."

"Before?" She stared at him, seemed to search his face for the answer.

"I'll show you," he said.

He took off his watch and fastened it around Jackie's forearm—it was too big for her wrist. Then he dragged her into the kitchen. It was on par with the one at W.B.'s house, as large and well-equipped, only the Burkharts couldn't afford a cook anymore.

A bread box, a spice rack, and a knife block sat on the counter. He studied the knife block for a moment then removed the paring knife from its slot.

Jackie stepped back. "Wha-what are you doing, Puddin'?"

Hyde cringed. He hadn't heard that name in so long, and the feelings it stirred up made his stomach clench. She was terrified and trying to reach him, but his goal was to reach __her.__ Words weren't fucking enough. _  
_ _  
_"Not gonna use the knife on you," he said. "Calm down."

His eyes flicked to her naked body. She had every right to be scared. She was completely vulnerable. But she must have trusted him enough, or was desperate enough, to keep standing there.

"Remember when you went to that wedding with Fez?" he said, and she nodded silently. "Remember what you said that night when you came back?"

"I asked you about—about our future."

"Right. You wanted me to tell you if I ever saw us gettin' hitched, and I couldn't. 'Cause I didn't know because I _didn't_ freakin' know."

"'Didn't'?" Jackie said, but her attention was on the knife. He was holding it by his leg. "Does that mean you know now?"

He rolled his eyes. The Earth could be erupting in flames all around her, and she'd still yammer on about a damn wedding. "Yeah, that's the right question to—" He bit back his contempt, refocused himself. "What did you say that night when I told you I didn't know?"

She looked down at the kitchen floor.

_"What did you say,_ Jackie?"

"I said I couldn't be with you anymore."

"Bingo. Any clue how that made me feel?"

"You said..." Her gaze returned to the knife. "You told me not to threaten you."

He smiled cheerlessly. "Now why the hell do you think I'd say that?"

"Because you felt threatened?"

"Why?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

"Come on."

" _ _I don't know,__ Steven, okay? If you didn't see a future with me, why would you care if I broke up with you?"

"I didn't see a future __without__ you," he said, and his grip tightened on the knife's handle. _"You,_ Jackie. Not with whatever you became two years a—last year."

She backed away toward the fridge. "What are you talking about?"

"All the pushing, man. You quit having fun, _being_ fun. The only thing you cared about was what other people thought about you. Conforming. You wanted a damn wedding, a fucking idea, and I wanted you."

"No, I—you wanted me?" Jackie's features grew harder, fueled by an emotion Hyde couldn't pinpoint. "You wanted... me." She laughed quietly. "You __wanted__ me."

He brought the knife's edge to his left forearm, and she stopped laughing. "You remember all the crap I told you about Edna?" His breathing was rough, and it made his ribs hurt, but he kept talking. "Nothing was ever enough for her, man."

Jackie moved toward the counter, toward him. Her nakedness didn't seem to matter to her, and she reached for the knife. "Steven, please, let me—"

He backed away now, to the dishwasher, and kept the knife at his skin. "I was like fucking Sisyphus, rolling the boulder up the hill. Right before he gets to the top, the boulder falls back down. It'll never stay up there, no matter how many times he tries, but he keeps tryin' and tryin'—'cause who wants to spend eternity in hell?

"Your..." Jackie's voice had begun to shake, and he thought she might bail. "Your mom's love was the boulder, right?" She shook her head. "No. The boulder was the things she had you __do.__ And you kept doing them because you wanted her love... But she never gave it to you. The boulder kept falling back down the hill."

"Until I quit pushing the rock. And then she—"

"Abandoned you." Jackie gasped and covered her mouth. "Steven..."

He admired her insight. It was one of the things that made him fall so damn hard for her, and one of the things he missed the most. "See what I'm getting at?" he said. The knife was near his wrist now.

She frowned, "You're saying I'm like her?" and her hands curled into a fists. "You're comparing me wanting you to attend social functions to your mom wanting you stay out all night in the cold—so she could sleep with random men?"

"A few stuffy parties I could handle, man. A few. Some of 'em were even fun—especially when you secretly burned those high society headcases with me." He smirked, but it quickly decayed into a scowl. "You knew I didn't like those damn parties. You used to fuckin' respect that, so I respected your need to go to a few. But by last Christmas, you forgot all that."

"Me?" Jackie's eyes blazed with fire. " _ _I__ forgot? What about you? You _promised_ you'd go to the Ladies of Point Place party with me. You'd never broken a promise to me before. You knew what my dad did. How he..." She placed her palm above her bare breasts, over her heart. "Why did you promise when you obviously didn't want to go?"

His scowl intensified. "It wasn't just the damn LOPPS party. In the three months before, I went to five of those things with you. __Five__. I promised I'd go to all of 'em, and I did. But I was sick of it by Christmas. So I backed outta the sixth."

"You should have told me, Steven."

"You should've known."

"How could I?" she shouted. "All you ever have to say anymore is, __'That's cool,'__ or __'Whatever, Jackie.'__ Or how about the helpful __'I don't know'__ and __'Have a nice trip'__ _? "_

He sighed heavily, tiredly. "So we're back on you. That's where we always end up. Back on you. I was right..."

"Right about—" her voice caught in her throat, "right about what?"

"You don't give a shit about me. Maybe you never did."

"Do you love __me?__ _"_ she said, and a fraying thread inside Hyde's mind finally split apart.

"You wanna know how I feel about you?" He pressed the knife's sharp tip into forearm. His flesh opened easily as he cut a smooth "T" and "H" and "I" and a jagged "S".

" _ _This__ _..."_ he held out his arm for Jackie to see, and the letters grew red with his blood, "is how you made me feel our last year." Pain radiated from the the "S" at his wrist. It was an oozing, crimson splotch. "Just like that," he said.

"My God..." She grabbed a dishrag near the sink. He didn't stop her as she tied it tightly around his wrist. "We have to get you to the hospital."

"Finding you in Chicago with Kelso was just the end of it," he said and let her pull him from the kitchen. "You took yourself away from me and any fucking hope I had."

"I'm here now, baby. I'm with you, okay?"

She dragged him across the living room, and he kept talking. The filter on his thoughts had dissolved away. He wasn't quite himself anymore... 'cause the sane part of him had broken off into his bloodstream. But it could still watch, still listen.

"I wake up every day, and it's the same," he said. They were outside on the Burkharts' gravel driveway now. "Nothing I do makes a damn difference. I wake up, and I wake up, and I wake up—but it's like I'm asleep, man. It's like a dream I can't break out of, a nightmare."

Jackie shoved him into the Camino's passenger seat. She was still naked but got behind the wheel. "Give me the keys," she said, and he pulled them from his pocket. "You're gonna be okay, Puddin'." The engine revved up. "You're gonna be fine."

Hyde started to laugh.


	9. Restraint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do” (C) ABBA; 1993 Polydor / Umgd.

CHAPTER 9  
 **RESTRAINT**

"What time is it, doll?" Hyde said. He'd been sedated and put in a hospital gown, a hospital bed... a hospital room. His left wrist was bandaged up. His right wrist had an IV in it, and his body was hooked up to annoying, beeping machines.

"3:17," Jackie said. She was no longer naked but dressed in his red Allman Brothers Band shirt and a pair of his jeans. One of his belts was buckled tightly around her waist.

"Is it tomorrow?"

She clutched his right hand in both of hers. "Yeah, Puddin'. It's Sunday."

"You're lying."

"It's what I do." She smiled at him, but he shut his eyes.

It hurt to see it, her smile. He didn't have his shades on, couldn't shield himself from what she radiated at him. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel the warmth she was trying to project. He tried to give into his grogginess, but the machine monitoring his heartbeat had sped up its beeping. Man, he wished it would shut up.

"This is it for me, Jackie," he said after a while. "Just gonna keep doing the same things over and over, find myself in the same place."

"Where do you want to be?" she said gently.

"Tomorrow."

"But..."she caressed the curve between his thumb and forefinger, "won't that be the same as today?"

"Not if it's Sunday."

"But if you keep doing the same things?"

He opened his eyes. The question had momentarily stunned him. "Sunday'll be just like Saturday. Except with football."

"Steven..." She let go of his hand and stood from her chair, pressed her lips to his mouth.

He kissed her back weakly.

"I love you," she spoke into him.

"More than getting married?"

The room's door opened before she could answer. "How's my favorite guest?" Mrs. Forman said. She had a tray of food in her arms. "You need to eat, honey. You slept through lunch." She put the tray down on a rolling table. Then she adjusted the hospital bed so he was sitting up. "You feeling all right, sweetie?"

"I wanna talk to Forman," he said. The words broke out of his mind like prisoners. "I gotta talk to him, Mrs. Forman."

"I'm—I'm sorry, honey. His plane hasn't landed yet."

"I gotta talk to him," Hyde said again. He started to get out of the bed.

"Steven," Mrs. Forman held him at the shoulders, "I'll get you some paper, and you can write him a letter, okay?"

Pain shot from his bruised ribs into his chest, but he pushed against her grip. "It won't get there."

"Steven," Jackie said, "you can talk to me. You can say anything, baby. Just, please, sit back down."

He grunted and settled back into the bed. Mrs. Forman wheeled the table to him, but he had no interest in eating.

"At least try the Jell-O," Mrs. Forman said.

He picked up the bowl of shiny red cubes. "What happened to the woman?"

"What woman?" Jackie said, but Mrs. Forman looked away.

"Is she okay?" he said.

Mrs. Forman stroked his cheek with the back of her fingers. "You should concentrate on getting your strength back, honey."

He put the bowl of Jell-O back on the tray. "She's dead."

"Who?" Jackie said. "Who's dead?"

Mrs. Forman sighed. "The bleeding from her head trauma was too severe. Maybe if she'd gotten here earlier, we could've saved her."

"How much earlier?"

"I—" Mrs. Forman frowned, "I don't know."

That wasn't good enough an answer. Hyde detached himself from the machines monitoring his heart and blood pressure, yanked out the IV. Then he shoved the table aside and got out of the bed.

"Oh, God—" Mrs. Forman shoved open the room's door and shouted for help.

"Steven, what are you doing?" Jackie said.

"I gotta end this day."

"No!" She thrust herself forward and held him tightly. "No, I don't wanna be here without you."

"What?"

"I don't care if we're together or not, okay? I just need you here... _on this planet._ I need you here, Steven."

"Jackie... I'm not going to—well, I __am,__ but I'll be back tomorrow. And it'll be like today never happened 'cause tomorrow is today. Don't you get it, man? Today doesn't count." Hyde was holding her now, and she looked up at him, clearly not understanding. "I've died over a dozen times already. And I wake up, good as new."

"Steven, you're not making any sense."

He couldn't explain it any better. He pulled Jackie off him, but the door swung open at the same moment. Mrs. Forman stepped aside as another nurse, a doctor, and two orderlies barged into the room. Hyde didn't have a chance. He was pushed onto the bed, a needle was stuck in his arm, and he sank into a relaxing fog.

* * *

Hyde awoke in a different room. The lights were dim. A thick curtain separated him from what had to be his "roommate". Those annoying beeps were here, too, 'cause his body was hooked back up to machines, and Mrs. Forman sat at his bedside with a guy he didn't recognize.

"Where's Jackie?" Hyde said.

"Steven, this is James," Mrs. Forman said. "He's a crisis counselor, honey. He's here to help you."

Hyde glanced at his left wrist. No watch. Just a thick bandage and a restraint. "What day is it?"

"Sa-Saturday," she said.

"Knock me back out."

James cleared his throat. His shaggy haircut contrasted badly with his stiff suit. "Steven, I understand that you've been feeling trapped. Do you know when that feeling started?"

"The second you opened your mouth, man."

"Steven..." Mrs. Forman's eyes were full of worry. If she hadn't been there, he would've acted like a nutjob on purpose and gotten himself re-sedated.

"275 days ago," Hyde said.

"What happened 275 ago?" James said.

"Caught my girl about to screw her ex-boyfriend—"

Mrs. Forman gasped. "Jackie?"

Something dark was crawling along the edges of Hyde's mind. Could've been an effect of the drugs he'd been dosed with, but his mouth let it loose. "No, it started before then. Donna shoved me off the Water Tower."

"That's how you fell off the... That red-headed blonde harlot!" Mrs. Forman shouted. "First she takes my precious baby boy from me; now she's taken my precious—"

"Nurse Kitty, please control yourself," James said. "We don't want to put Steven under any more stress." He turned back to Hyde. "Donna pushed you off the Water Tower, and that's when you began to feel trapped?"

"Think so," Hyde said, but he was talking without thinking. He didn't recognize the words leaving his mouth.

James nodded. "Why did she push you off the Water Tower, Steven?"

"Forman had bailed on their wedding. I made her laugh, and she..." Hyde closed his eyes. "What the hell did you drug me with? Some kind of truth serum?"

"There's no such thing, Steven. Believe me, if there were, my job would be a lot—" James cleared his throat again. "It must have been frightening to face your own mortality like that. You're only nineteen—"

"Nah. I've died fourteen times, man, and it's no big deal." Hyde opened his eyes. "The part before death, that's what sucks ass."

"Fourteen..." James's legs were crossed; he uncrossed them. "How?"

"Car crash, drug overdose, bar fight, bar fight, bar fight, bar fight, bar fight," Hyde took a breath, "bar fight, bar fight, bar fight, bar fight, bar fight," he took another breath, "bar fight, bar fight... though, technically, three of those were stabbings and two were shootings. The rest I just got the shit kicked out of me. Oh, once a guy smashed my skull into the curb."

Mrs. Forman covered her mouth, and her eyes widened in horror. "Why, Steven?" She started to cry. "Why do you want to die? Is it because I didn't mother you enough?" She leaned over the bed and hugged him. "I love you as much as if I'd given birth to you myself."

Guilt scraped at Hyde's heart as she cried. He shouldn't have said all that in front of her, but she'd forget it "tomorrow".

Her face pressed into his neck, dampening his skin with tears. "I should've taken you out of that horrible woman's home when you were little." Then she gasped by his ear. "Of course you feel trapped! Growing up in that house, with those people... it must be like—like you're still there! My poor baby!" She hugged him tighter, and his ribs twinged at the pressure, but James finally did something useful and pulled her off.

"Mrs. Forman, I don't wanna die," Hyde said. "I want my damn life back."

"How did you lose it?" James said.

"If I knew that, would I fucking be here?"

James sighed. "Let me rephrase: Why do you feel you lost your life?"

Hyde tried to reach behind himself to his pillow, to chuck it at the guy's face, but the restraints on his wrists didn't let him move. "Jackie," he said.

"Your girlfriend. You feel as though you've lost her—"

"No, I want to see her."

"Steven, it's..." Mrs. Forman looked at her watch, "late."

Hyde didn't like the sound of that. "How late?"

"It's almost midnight," Mrs. Forman said.

"Is she here?"

"You'll see her first thing in the morning, honey. I'll make sure of—"

"Mrs. Forman, I gotta see her now."

"Steven, I—"

_"Please."_

"All right, sweetie. All right."

Mrs. Forman stood up with James, who said, "One day at a time, Steven. One day at a time, and you'll get to where you want to be." He opened the door for Mrs. Forman and followed her out.

"Pinhead," Hyde muttered and peered around the room anxiously. He needed to talk to Jackie, __this__ Jackie, the one he'd affected with his words today and his actions. She'd be gone "tomorrow," and he couldn't go through this again to get her back.

She entered the room several minutes later with a nurse. Hyde waved a pathetic "Hello" with his fingers—he couldn't move anything else—and Jackie burst into tears. The nurse, meanwhile, began to inject something into his IV line.

"What is that?" Hyde said.

"This will help you get some good sleep tonight," the nurse said.

"How long will it take to work?"

"About five minutes."

__Crap._ _

Jackie had sat down in Mrs. Forman's chair. She was crying into her hands.

"Jackie," he said, "Jackie, I need you to quit crying."

"It's my fault," she said through her sobs. "If you hadn't found me and Michael—"

"Drop it already. I don't care."

The nurse was finished with the injection. "Ms. Burkhart, please try to calm down... and don't stay too long." Then she gave Hyde a small smile before leaving. "Let yourself fall asleep. Rest is good for you."

Jackie held his right hand and and controlled her breathing. "Steven, you have to understand what happened in Chicago. I was alone, and I thought—"

"You lost me."

"Yes." She nodded and gave his hand a squeeze. "Baby, I know what it's like to feel trapped. I got the job offer, and I didn't know if I'd get a chance like that again. With my family losing so much of our money, going to a good college became out of the question. I didn't get the scholarships I applied for—"

"What?" He struggled to sit up, but the restrains kept him on his back. "I didn't know you—"

" _ _Shh__ _,"_ Jackie said. "That was one dream I had to let go of, but losing you... " Her breathing sped up again as fresh tears spilled from her eyes. "Life without you feels like a nightmare, Steven. And when you just let me go to Chicago, I wanted to wake up so badly. Michael was the only comfort I had."

"I get it now. I get it, but why..." His eyes were drifting closed. He forced them open. "Why do you wanna 'waste' any more of your time on me?"

"Oh, God." She lowered her forehead to the back of his hand. "I'm so, so sorry I said that." She kissed his fingers, pressed her cheek against them. "I wish I'd known..."

"Known what?" His eyes were closed now, and he couldn't reopen them.

"That you wanted me."

"Why didn't...?"

"You stopped telling me."

Hyde tried to answer, but the sedative pulled him toward unconsciousness. "Pushed me too..."

"I'm afraid, Steven."

"Of...?"

"Just don't give up. Please, don't give up. Not for me. For yourself. You're too..."

He struggled to hear, but a deafening blackness sucked out the rest of her sentence. The next sound he heard wasn't her voice; it was...

_"I do, I do, I do, I do, I do."_ _  
_


	10. Hypothesis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER 10  
 **HYPOTHESIS**

Hyde's ribs no longer hurt, and his left arm bore no trace of the word he'd cut into it. He'd awoken in the Shooting Star Motel clearheaded. The mind-thread that broke yesterday was mended—maybe even a little stronger. Jackie loved him, him...but he didn't know yet if she loved her dream of marriage just a bit more.

It was 8:01 A.M., and he shut off the ABBA song like usual Yawned and stretched, figured he'd take it easy today. Then the image of Mrs. Hobart's slumped body burst behind his eyes.

__"The bleeding from her head trauma was too severe,"__ Mrs. Forman had said, __"Maybe if she'd gotten here earlier, we could've saved her..."__

Hyde grabbed his duffel bag—he'd woken fully dressed, as always—and raced from the room. Phyllis said something unconcierge-like to him in the lobby, but he barely heard it. Her dirty question didn't matter, and Sam's money would have to wait. He ran to the parking lot, tossed his duffel bag onto the Camino's flatbed, and was on the road by 8:05 A.M.

He pulled up to the Mazda-S.U.V. accident nine minutes later. His plan had been to drive past the crash on the shoulder and save a bunch of time, but a freakin' tree was obstructing his path. So six minutes later, Chad was unconscious and Hyde had his keys.

8:28 A.M. Hyde used the payphone on Pine Avenue to call the hospital.

8:34 A.M. The ambulance drove past him.

8:42 A.M. He was waiting outside the hospital. He wanted to see the ambulance arrive with the Hobarts.

8:47 A.M. The ambulance arrived.

9:07 A.M.

Hyde had driven the S.U.V. back to Green Bay Road and returned to the hospital in the Camino. A clean shirt was on him. Didn't need doctors and patients alike giving him dirty looks for how he smelled. Being back at the hospital was bad enough, but spotting Mrs. Forman on the third floor eased some of his discomfort. She was talking to an orderly, and Hyde waited—out of view—until the conversation was over.

"Steven?" Mrs. Forman maneuvered around a patient who was on crutches. "What are you—"

He pulled her into a tight hug. She responded in kind, and the contact relaxed him further. Yesterday had been rough on him; it would've been a whole lot worse without her.

"Thank you," he said. It was something he'd thought many times, but this was the first time he let the words escape. "Thank you for takin' me in. For giving a crap."

"Oh... oh, my..." She withdrew a little, and her eyes grew wet. "It's been—it's wonderful having you there, Steven. And you being healthy and happy is all the thanks I need."

She held him tightly again, and he smirked into her hair. Health, maybe he could claim. Happiness? Not even close.

"You didn't have to come all the way to the hospital," she said once they parted. She grabbed a handful of tissues from the nurses' desk. "A phone call you were home would've been enough."

"Yeah, I didn't come here just for that." He told her about the accident again, about the Hobarts and Chad. The bastard hadn't landed any hard punches this time, but Hyde's jeans got ripped when his knee scraped pavement. "Soon as you know anything about her, could you tell me?"

"Of course, honey," she said. She'd taken out a bottle of iodine, some cotton, and a fat band-aid.

He chuckled defensively. "Who's that for?"

"Who do you think?" She smiled and directed hm to the waiting area.

He sat down in a chair. "That's okay, I don't need—ow." She was already applying the iodine to his knee. "Ow—damn it. Why does that crap sting so much?"

"Love hurts, Steven," she said, and her laughter filled the waiting area. "And so does iodine. Gosh, this stuff smells awful." She closed the bottle, but its pungent scent hung in the air. "Have you eaten anything this morning?" She smoothed the band-aid over his scrape, just like mothers were supposed to do. Just like his never had.

"Not yet."

"Oh, then why don' t you go down to the cafeteria?" She threw the used cotton and band-aid packaging into a trashcan, but he didn't move from the chair. "Sweetie, it might be a while before we know anything about Mrs. Hobart."

"Okay," he said and stood up. Despite his concern, he had an appetite. The last time he'd eaten was two days ago, but the lack of food didn't register to his body so much as to his mind.

9:27 A.M.

The bacon had been burnt, and the eggs were over-salted, but Hyde was full and sitting back in the third-floor waiting room. He flipped through an issue of _Good Housekeeping_ while Mrs. Forman rushed from one room to another, filled out paper work, and spoke to doctors. In the last nine months, he'd already read the magazines he normally liked. That was another thing that sucked about repeating the same day: Nothing new was published, not papers or magazines. All the TV shows were the same. _Good Housekeeping_ was something different, at least.

9:54 A.M.

Mrs. Forman was at the nurses' desk and on the phone. Hyde dropped the magazine and joined her there, kept his his trap shut. She was frowning.

"Thank you," she said into the phone and hung up.

"What's going on?" he said.

"I'm sorry, honey. She didn't make it. The bleeding from her head trauma was too severe..." Her voice wavered. "And she was—she was pregnant. They tried to save the baby."

"Shit." His stomach felt as if it was being crushed between two metal walls. He hadn't been able to tell Mrs. Hobart was pregnant when he saw her in the car. "Would it help if she got here earlier?"

"Maybe. It's hard to know these things."

Hyde grasped Mrs. Forman hand and gave it squeeze. "Thanks." Then he headed for the elevators.

"Wait," she called after him, "how was Chicago? How's Jackie? Did you two patch things up?

He said the only answer that came to him: "A little."

10:14 A.M.

Hyde parked the Camino in front of the Formans' driveway where Kelso, Donna, and Fez were playing basketball. The sight dissipated some of the gloom from Mrs. Hobart's death. He hadn't seen any of them them in a long time.

"Hyde?" Donna ran up to the Camino before he could get out. "Oh, my God, you're here!"

"Hey," he said with a smile bigger than he intended. He wanted to keep cool, but his feelings were too strong. They made him do worse than smile once he got out of the car. "Glad to see you guys," he said and hugged both Donna and Fez in turn. Then he moved onto Kelso, who dropped the basketball and backed away.

"Jackie and I didn't do anything, okay?" Kelso was covering his face protectively. "She wanted me to tell you that. She cried on the whole ride back here, man. Especially 'cause I told her you were gonna propose."

"Kelso, man, relax," Hyde said. "I don't care."

Donna and Fez both stared at him and said, "What?"

"You caught me naked!" Kelso shouted. "I said no one could see me and Jackie doing it from the parking lot!"

"Yup." Hyde picked up the basketball and shot a basket. Not bad, considering he was out of practice.

Kelso pointed a shaking finger at him. "No... no, you're up to something, and it's gotta be bad—and I'm not sticking around to find out!" He bolted past the Camino and down the street.

"Hyde, are you serious?" Donna said. "You really don't care about what happened?"

"Nope. Doesn't matter." He scooped up the basketball for another shot.

She grabbed the ball from him. "Then you should go to Jackie because it matters to her. She's at her house right now, probably listening to some Donny Osmond and crying into her pillows.

"The Captain and Tennille," Hyde said.

"Ooh," Fez said, "'Circles' or 'Happier than the Morning Sun?'"

"'Come In From the Rain'."

Fez nodded. "Good choice."

"Will you two shut up?" Donna bumped the ball into Hyde's arm. "Get your ass over there and talk to her."

"Maybe later." He led them to the porch and sat in one of the green chairs. Fez plunked down on the other one before Donna had a chance, and Hyde frogged him. "Hot chicks first."

"Ai! But—"

Hyde frogged him again, and he stood up.

Donna grinned and tossed the basketball to Fez. Then she sat down. "When did you get so chivalrous, Hyde?"

"Three weeks ago.

Listen, tell me what you think about this..." He told them about the accident but framed it as a hypothetical situation, starring himself, the Wife, the Husband, and the Bad Guy. "It took me forty minutes from the time I woke up until the Wife was brought to the hospital. How could I shave off time?"

Donna laughed. "I thought you didn't like math problems—or math, in general."

"How did you get a boo-boo?" Fez tugged the flap of ripped denim by Hyde's knee.

Hyde slapped his hand away. "Come on, man. How could I shave off time?

"Just wake up earlier," Donna said.

"I can't. The 8:00 A.M. waking-time is concrete. But maybe I could kick the Bad Guy's ass faster. .It took me over five minutes."

Fez dribbled the ball. "You," _dribble,_ "need," _dribble,_ "a weapon." He gasped. "Like a basketball that fires bullets!"

Hyde waved at him dismissively. "You've been hanging around Kelso too long."

"Fine," Fez said. "Then set off a bomb... in his pants."

"I don't wanna kill the guy. Just get his keys."

"If you had a scary enough weapon," Donna said, "maybe the Bad Guy would be freaked out enough to hand the keys over."

"Huh. Not a bad idea." Hyde laced his fingers over his stomach and leaned back in the chair. "Okay, but once I'm gone with the S.U.V., what about the Husband? Chad'll beat the crap outta him."

"Chad?" Donna said.

"Uh... that's the name I'm calling the Bad Guy.

"Bring him with you," Fez said.

Hyde shook his head. "He'll start shit in the car."

"Leave the weapon with the Husband," Donna said.

"The Bad Guy'll knock it out of his hands."

Donna and Fez glanced at each other and shrugged.

"Well, I'm stumped," she said.

"Me, too." Fez chucked the basketball over his shoulder. It bounced noisily on the pavement until it hit the ivy hedge between the Formans' and the Pinciottis'. "What's the answer?"

"Don't know, man," Hyde said and stood up. "That's why I was asking you." He walked back to the Camino amid Fez and Donna's _boos!_ Then he opened the car door and peered behind him. "Thanks for the help."

10:42 A.M.

Hyde entered Forman & Son Mufflers just as a chuckling, mustached man left. The store smelled like motor oil and metal, and Red was scowling behind the counter. But his expression softened once he spotted Hyde.

"Steven," he said cheerfully—as cheerfully as Red ever said anything. "Welcome back, son."

"Hey, Red." Hyde jabbed his thumb at the door. "That guy make the 'baffle' joke?"

Red slapped his hand on the counter, causing his wedding ring to clink on the surface. "Do you know how many times people make that Goddamn joke? I wanted to kick him in the ass." He sighed. "Anyway... what're you doing here? Thought you were in Chicago with the loud one."

"Yeah, she's here, too. I could use your advice on something, man." Hyde told Red the same thing he told Donna and Fez about the accident. "If I got a gun, where could I shoot the Bad Guy so it wouldn't kill him?"

"The foot. The shoulder. The shin..." Red knew his shit, which was why Hyde had asked him. The only other guy he would've trusted for a good answer was his uncle Chet, but seeing as he was stuck in prison... "Try not to shoot him in the femoral artery," Red continued. "That's in the thigh."

Hyde nodded. "Okay, so let's say I take a good shot, and he goes down. How am I gonna keep from getting busted?"

"Well, you—" Red's eyes narrowed. "You're not planning on actually shooting someone, are you? Did Kettlehead pull some crap in Chicago? 'Cause if he did, I'm not bailing you out if you kill him."

"No."

"Good." Red seemed to relax, but then he pointed a a finger and repeated, "I'm not paying your bail."

"You won't have to, man. This is purely hypothetical."

"Okay." Red left the counter with a rag in his hand. A muffler was sitting on the work bench, and he began to polish it. "This is how you don't get arrested: The Husband will be your alibi. He'll owe ya that. He'll say you shot the Bad Guy in self-defense, he'll claim the gun as his own—hell, he'll do whatever he can for you if his wife's saved."

Hyde crossed his arms and thought it over. Seemed like a decent enough plan. Maybe it would work.

"Say, Steven..." Red put down the rag and looked up from the muffler, "could you let Kitty know you're back? It might, uh..." he looked back down at the muffler, "lift her spirits."

"Already saw her," Hyde said.

"Did it lift her spirits?"

"Think so."

Red smiled a genuine, happy smile and clapped Hyde on shoulder. "That's why I've always like you, son: You've got good timing."

11:18 A.M.

Hyde had returned to the Shooting Star Motel. Phyllis was reading a a magazine behind the concierge desk, chewing gum, and twirling her frizzy red hair like a freakin' teenager. Nine months of seeing her greasy, fat face hadn't made it more attractive. He approached the desk, and she pushed the magazine aside.

"Just couldn't stay away from me, could ya, hot stuff?" She rested her elbows on the desk and her chin on her fists. A broad grin spread across her lips, revealing both her chewed-up gum and missing molar.

"Nope." His fingers curled gently around her elbow, and his thumb stroked her skin. "Phyllis, there's this guy who's been hassling my sister—"

"Tell Mama all about it, sweetheart." Her breath smelled like rot soaked in mint, another one of her endearing qualities.

"Yeah, so she's been done with the guy for a while now," he said, "but he doesn't seem to get the picture. The bastard doesn't live too far away from here." He lowered his voice, though no one else was in the lobby. "I wanna scare him. You wouldn't happen to have something I could do that with, would ya?"

"Maybe." Her eyes glazed over with a lust as unvarnished as the concierge desk _._ "What's in it for me?"

"Uh... what do you want?"

"What I have is pretty 'special'. You'd have to give me something special in trade."

"Is it loaded?" he said.

She grasped his hand. "Are you?"

"You want cash?"

"No, honey..." She stepped out from the desk, moved in close to him, and cupped his crotch over his jeans. "I mean _loaded._ "

The placement of her hand—the warmth of it—made his stomach shrink with revulsion. He wanted to shove her away, but he mentally separated himself from his body instead. That was the first layer of Zen he'd ever achieved as a kid. It allowed him to stay calm when he got knocked around or, in this case, fondled by an uggo.

"So?" she said.

"Show me yours, and I'll show you mine," he said.

She gave him a wink and a little squeeze, then let him go. She bent down behind the concierge desk and reappeared with a snub nose .38 special revolver.

It was perfect.

"Cool," he said and turned toward the lobby door.

"Where do you think you're going?" she said.

"I'll get it tomorrow."

"I don't think so, sweet cheeks." Her tone was hostile, and he glanced behind him. She wasn't pointing the gun but holding it flat on the desk. "It's now or nothing."

"Whatever." He left the motel without another look back.

12:06 P.M.

Hyde mailed the package of money to Sam before driving to Point Place again. It was lunch time, and he was hungry, so he ended up at The Hub. He hadn't been there in almost a year. Its checkerboard floor, greasy smell, and teenage customer base were exactly the same. Of course it was—since it was still September 8th, 1979—but part of him had expected it to look different.

An interesting thing drew Hyde's attention as he walked to the order counter: Sitting alone at a table, eating a burger and fries, was Kelso. His back was facing The Hub's door, so he hadn't caught sight of Hyde yet, and Hyde kept his voice down while he ordered. He also kept his head down while he waited for his food—a hot dog, fries, and a pop. Then he brought his tray to Kelso's table and sat down beside him.

"Whoa—shit!" Kelso sprang from his chair, but Hyde grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. "Whatever you're gonna do, Hyde, just do it! All this suspense is freakin' me out!"

"I'm not gonna do anything, man," Hyde said and took a bite of his hot dog.

Kelso pointed at his own tray of food. "You've already done it, haven't you? You poisoned my burger!"

Hyde chuckled. "Man, if you were stuck in the same day, it would take you ten thousand years to get to tomorrow."

"Huh?" Kelso stuffed a handful of fries in his mouth. "Whap bas bap beem?"

"Yeah, why not?" Hyde said with a shrug. "I'll tell ya."

And he did, about waking up in the Shooting Star Motel every morning on September 8th, about being able to do whatever he wanted without it counting the "next day". Out of all his friends, Kelso was the mostly likely to believe it.

"If you were stuck," Hyde said, "what would you do to get out?"

"The next day, no one remembers what you did?" Kelso said, and Hyde nodded. "Man, I'd nail so many chicks!"

"First, you already do that. Second, it gets old."

"N'uh-uh."

"The point is, man, I wanna __get out.__ _"_ Hyde drank a sip of pop, good ol' watered-down Coke. How he'd missed The Hub. "I gotta be stuck for a reason."

"Well, what do you think the reason is?" Kelso said.

"I thought it was just to fuck with me, but now I'm not so sure. I've died fourteen time, man."

"Really?" Kelso's expression brightened like a kid who'd just gotten a present. "Is that why you're cool with me and Jackie?"

"Yeah—" Hyde rammed his fist into Kelso's shoulder, _"no._ Jackie's off limits. If you ever try that shit with her again, I _will_ kill you."

Kelso was frowning, and he rubbed his shoulder. "I knew you were pissed! This whole thing—the story—it's been a setup."

"No, it's not. Look, man, I get what was goin' through Jackie's head that—last night. And __yours.__ Next time you think about comforting her, don't do it with your dick."

"How about with my mouth?" Kelso said, and Hyde frogged him again. "To __talk__ to her. Damn!"

Hyde picked up a soggy French fry, considered it, then tossed it back onto the tray. "Whatever. I'm giving you a pass for last night. It's your only one."

Kelso was staring at him now. "You're serious."

"Yup."

"Man, Hyde, maybe you __have__ repeated the same day for nine months 'cause that's how long it would take you to forgive me."

"Pretty much."

They'd finished eating, so they chucked their empty wrappers and paper cups into the trash. Then they went outside together. The Camino was in The Hub's parking lot, but Kelso's red MG Midget sports car was nowhere to be seen, not on the street—nowhere.

"Where's your car?" Hyde said and leaned against the Camino.

"Oh, I left it back by the Formans'. I didn't want you to find me, so I ran away on foot. Yeah, a good cop knows how not to leave traces of himself."

Kelso's skills as a logician were always good for a chuckle, and Hyde let himself have one. But then Kelso knelt and ripped the flap of denim off Hyde's knee.

"What the hell, man?" Hyde looked down at his jeans. The formerly plum-sized hole was big enough to fit a hand through.

"I wanna see it all not-ripped tomorrow," Kelso said. "Everything'll goes back to the way it was in the morning, right?"

"That's not how it works. You won't know they're fixed 'cause you won't remember they were torn-up."

"Oh..." Kelso's face fell, but he quickly recovered. "So how'd you bust your knee? It's all bruise-y around the band-aid."

Hyde told him about the accident—as a realevent, not a hypothetical situation—about Chad and the Hobarts. "It was my ribs yesterday, but I got a theory," he said. "Maybe that's why I'm trapped here. Maybe I'm supposed to save Mrs. Hobart's life. And her kid's."

The wind was blowing, and he shivered as it swept up his jeans through its new "vent". Though the sun was shining directly above him, he was still cold. He crossed his arms for warmth and told Kelso about Phyllis and her gun. "But I gotta figure out how to get it without my dick being involved"

"Just French her," Kelso said. "Older chicks usually give me whatever I want if I give 'em some tongue as a down payment—and a promise for more, which you totally don't have to keep."

Hyde grimaced. The idea sickened him, but... "I'll give it a shot," he said and opened the Camino's driver-side door. "Thanks, man."

"Wait." Kelso grasped Hyde's arm. "Can I hang out with you today? I wanna see what happens, like if you fade away or something."

"Uh..." Hyde checked his watch. It was 12:48 P.M. He couldn't go back to the Formans' because Jackie was over there crying, and he wasn't ready to talk to her yet. "Sure. Wanna go see __City on Fire?__ It's playing in Kenosha."

Kelso grinned widely. "Oh, yeah!"

"That one I saw only once."

"I've seen it three times," Kelso said. "Chicks dig fire."

4:12 P.M.

They got back to the Formans' with ice cream cones in their hands. Kelso had bought vanilla chocolate chip, and Hyde was enjoying the last bit of his chocolate and peanut butter. All in all, the day hadn't sucked—except for Mrs. Hobart's death and Phyllis's grope of his 'nads.

Hyde and Kelso were still outside, near the stairs leading to the basement. "Hey," Hyde said, "could you make sure the basement's Jackie-free?"

"You don't know where she is?" Kelso said and took a lick of ice cream. "I thought you lived this day a bajillion times already."

"Yeah, but not here. Not in Point Place." He gave Kelso a little shove toward the stairs. "Go be a cop and secure the joint."

"Okay." Kelso climbed down two steps then turned around. "Wait. You didn't set it up so the basement'll catch on fire when the door opens, did you?"

"No."

"Good. Just checking."

Hyde shook his head and smirked. Kelso's suspicion was amusing, and he didn't blame him for it. To Kelso, it was still the next day after Chicago, not nine months later.

Kelso disappeared through the basement door then popped out. "Only Donna."

"Cool."

Hyde joined him in the basement, only to be greeted by the sound of a nose being blown. Donna was curled up on the couch, and crumpled tissues were all around her.

"Missing Forman, huh?" Hyde said.

She looked up at him with red eyes. "No."

"Yeah, you do, "Kelso sang. "You love him."

"No, I fucking hate him!" She threw a dirty tissue at Kelso, who dodged it easily. "I'm just so mad at him for leaving. He does all these things, makes these decisions without me... that __affect__ me."

Kelso sat in the lawn chair, Fez's usual spot, and bit into his sugar cone. "I did that to Jackie all the time."

"I don't even know if I want to be with him anymore," Donna said as tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them away.

Hyde remained standing and clutched his belt buckle."Forman's only been gone a day, man."

"I know, but I haven't been able to leave this house at all today. It's like I need to be around him somehow. It's pathetic."

"I thought you hated him," Kelso said, and Donna began to cry full-force.

Hyde pushed the crumpled tissues aside and sat on the couch. Then he put his arm around her as she hid her crying face in his chest. He'd never seen her like this. Usually, her anger came out like a guy's—shouting, cursing, or finding someone's ass to kick. She had to be hurting more than she could take, and he understood why.

But he also understood why Forman left.

Getting engaged to her was the worst mistake Forman had ever made, man. It set off a chain of events leading up to this, to their freakin' separation. No money for college—like Jackie, which Hyde still hadn't gotten a handle on—and Africa was his way out. It was also Forman's way back to Donna...

If she didn't give up on him first.

"You know what you should do, Big D?" Kelso said. "It'. With me."

Hyde hurled one of the couch's pillows at him. "Would you shut the hell up?"

"Hey, you said nothing about Donna being off-limits. Just Jackie."

"She's freakin' off-limits, too," Hyde said.

Donna sat up and sniffled. "Says who?"

"Forman's not here, man. Someone's gotta speak for him."

She shoved Hyde's arm off her shoulders and stood. She was glaring at him. "I'm not Eric's property!" Then she walked to Kelso, who was still sitting in the lawn chair, and grabbed his sleeve. "Come on, Kelso."

Kelso spoke in a hushed tone. "What, are you serious?"

"Donna," Hyde was standing now, "come on—"

"No!" she said. "Hyde, you can't tell me what to do—or __who__ —just because you're Eric's friend."

"Thought I was yours, too."

She didn't answer. Instead, she pulled Kelso out of the basement while Kelso shouted, "All right! I've been waiting to do this for yea—" The door slammed shut.

Hyde leaned his head back and sighed. After everything he'd done himself the last 275 days, what right did he have to tell Donna fuckin' anything? Nada. But he ran outside to the staircase and caught up with her in the driveway. She was still dragging Kelso by the shirtsleeve.

"Joke's over, man," Hyde said.

"Oh, it's no joke." Kelso snaked his arm around Donna's waist, and she didn't stop him. "We're gonna do it!"

"What about seeing if I 'fade away' tonight?"

"I can do both. It's only—" Kelso looked at his watch, "4:18. I'll be back." He and Donna began to walk toward the Pinciottis' house, but Hyde stepped in front of them.

"Hyde, stay out of this," Donna said.

He wanted to. Wanted to go back to the basement and smoke a few joints. But he couldn't. This was Forman's girl—and Forman would've done the same for him.

"How 'bout we go for a drive?" Hyde said. "I'll even buy the beer."

She tried to move past him. "I don't want to go on a stupid drive, and I don't want any damn beer! I just want to feel better."

"Trust me, nailing Kelso won't do that."

Kelso gasped. "It... will... __too!__ _"_

"Then what am I supposed to do?" she said. "Just stick around here, staring at the television?" She tried to pull Kelso past him again, but Hyde gripped her wrist. "Hyde!"

_" _Don't__ do this, Donna."

"Get bent!" She twisted free from Hyde's fingers, slipped from Kelso's arm, and ran off.

Kelso started to go after her, but Hyde held him back. "Oh, no. You're sticking with me today."

"But this could be my only chance to nail Big D!"

"You're this close to nailing my foot with your ass," Hyde said.

__"Fine."__ Kelso's voice was a groan, but he relented. "Nice foot-and-ass, by the way."

* * *

Hyde and Kelso spent the next two hours together in the basement. They'd had a circle and played __The Game of Life.__ Both of them retired to the "Millionaire" space, but Hyde was the ultimate winner with the most money.

"Hey," Kelso said, "if we were to play this game again tomorrow—I mean today—I mean, you know what I mean, would the game go the exact same way?"

"Probably not, man. We'd have time it just right. Your spins might be the same, but spinning the wheel's random on my end. Even a small difference in what I do changes things, like... oh!" A memory had emerged, and Hyde grinned at it. He told Kelso about how he'd fucked those dozen chicks at once in New Jersey, sparing almost no detail. "I wanted a repeat experience of it, right? But I must've said a couple of things wrong the second time 'cause two girls opted out."

"Wow..." The grin on Kelso's face was wider than Hyde's. "That's the best story I've ever heard." Then his expression grew serious. "Where in New Jersey?"

"Who cares?"

Kelso grasped Hyde's shirt. "Man, you gotta bring me there one of your September 8ths."

"No way." Hyde pushed him off.

"But you gotta! The most chicks I've done at once is three. A dozen is, like, the Promised Land of doin' it."

"Kelso, it's not gonna ha—"

The basement door banged open, and Fez strode in. He stopped in front of the lawn chair purposefully, put his hands on his hips, and said, "Do you people know what I have just done?" His tone was pretentious, and Hyde checked the time: 6:33 P.M. "Because you will never guess what I have done."

"What?" Kelso said, but Hyde sunk nto the cushions of the couch. He already knew.

"Oh, no," Fez said. "You have to guess."

Kelso squinted like he didn't get it. "But you just said we'll never guess."

"You sleep with Donna?" Hyde said.

Fez's eyes shut, and he nodded, as if it were a solemn event.

"No..." Kelso shot to his feet. "No way!"

"Oh, yes, my friends." Fez sat in the the lawn chair and leaned forward. "I was at Jackie's, comforting her, and Donna walked in. She said, 'Fez, you and me, __now.'__ At first I didn't understand what she meant, but when she shoved her tongue into my mouth, oh, I got it. So..." he took a deep breath, "I said good day to Jackie, went to Donna's, and we did it—twice!"

"Twice?" Kelso glared at Hyde and frogged him. "That should've been me, Hyde! Twice!"

"No, it should've been no one. Hyde frogged Kelso back and stood up. Then he headed for the stairs to the kitchen.

Kelso and Fez followed behind him. The scent of garlic grew strong as they climbed the stairs—Mrs. Forman had to be making spaghetti—and Hyde sped up his pace. It had been nine months since he'd eaten her cooking. He missed it.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Forman was stirring a pot of tomato meat sauce, and noodles sat in a pot of boiling water. Hyde had half-expected her to be making steak and French fries for dinner tonight, like she said she would "yesterday". But the conversation they'd had at the hospital had gone differently today.

"Oh, my!" Mrs. Forman stopped stirring to give Hyde a peck on the cheek. "It's a good thing I made a lot of food tonight!" She began to laugh. "I'm so glad the three of you are here. You're all staying for dinner tonight, okay?"

Kelso sniffed the sauce. "Oh, yeah!"

"Ooh, spaghetti. I am in," Fez said, "just like I was in Donna's pa—"

Hyde covered Fez's mouth and whispered, "That's Forman's mom, man."

"Right... right. Thank you, Hyde."

"Steven," Mrs. Forman said, "Mr. Hobart wanted me to pass on his thanks for helping him and his wife."

Hyde screwed up his face. "But I didn't help hi—"

"You were his angel, honey," she said and resumed stirring the sauce. "That poor man..." Then she sighed. "Why don't you three go to the Pinciottis' and invite Donna over here? Dinner will be ready in a few minutes."

"Don't think Donna will wanna come tonight," Hyde said.

"Oh." Mrs. Forman sounded disappointed. "Why not?"

Fez smiled. "Because she already ca—"

Hyde punched his arm and yanked him away to the dining room.

6:40 P.M.

The dining room table was already set with six table settings. Hyde, Kelso, and Fez all sat down, but Hyde thought it curious the table was prepared this way. Mrs. Forman must have been optimistic about Forman's friends showing up.

"Mr. Hobart," Kelso said to Hyde. "That''s the guy from the crash, right?"

Fez's brow furrowed. "The accident was real?"

"Yup," Hyde said.

Kelso clinked his fork on his plate. "Man... maybe you really __are__ stuck in Saturday."

"What does that mean?" Fez said, and—to Hyde's annoyance—Kelso explained. "Wow, what I would do..." Fez tilted his head, as if he were fantasizing, and after a moment whispered, "I wish it were me."

"Yeah... no, you don't," Hyde said.

Kelso patted him on the back. "Come on. It hasn't been all bad." Then he started to tell Hyde's tale of the dozen New Jersey chicks, but the Formans entered the room at the part where the girls had their mouths on Hyde's body. "Five of 'em were sucking his d—ishes! 'Cause those dishes really sucked. Chipped and cracked. Man, you never saw an uglier set."

"Just once," Red said, "I'd like to have dinner without Kettlehead using the word 'suck'." He put the pot of spaghetti sauce down at the center of the table.

Mrs. Forman used a pair of tongs to fill the plates with noodles, and Red took it upon himself to ladle the sauce for everyone, but the tension between them was tangible. If Red caught Mrs. Forman's eye, she'd look away. During dinner itself, the tension erupted into outright hostility.

"Oh, I love your spaghetti, Miss Kitty," Fez said. A noodle was dangling from his bottom lip.

"You know who else loves my spaghetti?" Mrs. Forman said. She was staring at Red. "Eric."

"For God's sake," Red's silverware clattered to the table, "he'll be back."

"In a year, Red. In a Goddamn year. What are they going to feed him over there? Monkey fricassee? Insect casserole? My baby should be here eating my spaghetti, not elephant cacciatore, and he would've been if you hadn't—"

"I had sex with Donna!" Fez blurted.

Red stood up and slammed his hand on the table. "You did __what?__ _"_

"She was upset and I—I..." Fez shrank in his chair. "Ai."

Kelso threw down his napkin. "It should've been me!"

Kitty's face froze into a wide-eyed ice sculpture, but Red's was the same color as his name. Hyde pulled Fez from his chair and shoved him out of the dining room—and out of the house.

"I couldn't help it," Fez said. "They were fighting, and I couldn't keep it in!"

Kelso had followed them to the driveway, and Hyde handed Fez off to him. "Take Fez home before Red shoots him."

"But I wanna see you disappear!" Kelso said.

"That won't happen for hours, man. Come back here without Mr. Blabbermouth. I gotta do something."

Hyde walked in the opposite direction as Kelso and Fez, toward the Pinciottis'. He entered the house through the kitchen, and Bob was sitting at the table with a pathetic-looking sandwich.

"Oh, Hyde!" Bob said. "Thank God you're here. That Eric has messed with my daughter for the last time. He better hope a lion eats him in Africa; otherwise, __I'm__ gonna kill him."

"Donna's home?" Hyde said.

Bob nodded sadly. "In her room. She won't come out. Maybe you can make her feel better."

A wave of familiarity surged through Hyde's body. Yesterday, Pam had said the same thing to him about Jackie. "I'll try, man," he said, and when he reached the second floor, the wave crested at his skull. Loud, muffled music was playing through Donna's door. But instead of schmaltzy Captain & Tennille, it was angry Joplin.

He knocked on the door and shouted, "It's Hyde!"

The door flung open seconds later, and Donna yanked him inside. Then she kicked the door shut, pushed him up against it, and pressed her lips to mouth. The taste of alcohol soaked into his tongue as she deepened the kiss—not just alcohol, vodka—and it brought him back to his wreck of a house, to his mother.

He shoved Donna off him, rougher than he'd intended, and searched under her bed. A nearly empty bottle of Smirnoff Vodka lay by some dust bunnies.

"Hyde," she pulled him to his feet and slid her hands beneath his shirt, "I need you." She began to kiss hs neck. "Please, Hyde. __Please.__ _"_

_"Shit—"_ He pushed her off again, gently this time, and held her at arm's length. "What, Fez wasn't enough?" She gazed down and shook her head. "I'm here to talk," he said, "or listen. But that's it."

That seemed to calm her down 'cause she quit trying to get closer, and she sat on the bed with him. He didn't want to touch her—just in case it gave her the wrong idea—but she leaned over his lap. She was sobbing into his thigh.

"Hey..." He put his hand on her back. "It's gonna be okay, man. You're gonna forget all about this 'tomorrow'."

"I won't. I can't live without him, Hyde. I can't." Her voice was slurry, and she clutched his leg by his exposed knee. "But I can't live with him after what I did. He's never gonna forgive me."

"You think you can forgive Forman for leaving?"

Silence. Then: "I don't know."

"He was trapped, man," Hyde said. "Getting engaged when you did freakin' screwed you both, and—"

He sprang from the bed. Something warm had glided up his thigh, settled over his boxers and onto his crotch. Donna's hand. She'd snaked it through the hole in his jeans, and now she was trying to take off his belt.

"Donna—" He tore her fingers from his belt buckle. Two damn times someone had tried to get at his dick today. "Look," he said, "I know how fucked up you feel right now, but this ain't the way out."

"There __isn't__ a way out," she said. Her cheeks were wet, and fresh tears were spilling from her eyes.

"There's gotta be."

"All I want is to forget, like you said. Forget everything." Her fingers hooked onto his belt loops and tugged. "Help me do that."

"No." He pulled her off for the fourth time and backed away.

Her expression darkened. "Jackie was gonna screw Kelso if you hadn't shown up."

"I know."

"Don't you want to get her back?"

The image of Jackie's stiff, pale face surfaced behind his eyes. "Already did."

"How?" she said. Then she gasped and pointed at him. "You already slept with someone else, didn't you? Was it another nurse?"

"No..." __Man,__ for a girl who was totally wasted, her brain still half-worked. "Jackie's mom," he said, "and a stripper... and countless other chicks." It was a gamble, telling her. But she'd forget it "tomorrow," and she'd forget Fez. _  
_ _  
_"Yeah, right," she said. "You and Pam."

"Believe it or don't. But Jackie caught me fucking her mom and offed herself because of it."

Donna's eyes narrowed. "Wait, Jackie's dead?"

"Not today."

"Wow..." She finally sat back down on the bed and cupped her cheek. "I must be drunker than I think."

Hyde grasped the knob to her door—he couldn't take any more of this shit today—and left.

8:00 P.M.

He returned to Forman's basement, but it wasn't empty. Jackie was sitting in his chair, holding her knees to her chin, and watching __ChiPS.__ Her presence didn't make him unhappy, but this wasn't the Jackie of "yesterday". This Jackie hadn't watched him cut himself, and her self-centeredness hadn't been frightened away.

He wasn't sure how to approach her, so he went with a simple, "Hey."

"Steven!" She ran to him and thrust herself into his arms. "Thank God! I rushed over here soon as I hung up with Michael. He told me everything, that you forgive me!"

She kissed Hyde so zealously that he choked a little. But he recovered his breath and responded in equal measure. Kissing her now felt better than it had "yesterday," like two-thirds right instead of halfway. He brought them both to the couch and settled Jackie in his lap.

"You really forgive me, Puddin'?" she said. Her eyes glinted wetly in the light of the basement. She'd started to cry.

"Yeah." He held her as she sobbed, stroked her hair and lay soft kisses on her shoulder until she calmed down. Comforting her felt two-thirds right, too.

"Michael told me this ridiculous story," she said, "about you being stuck in some kind of time-warp, and that's why you forgave us. I almost didn't buy it—and I still don't really get what meant," she hugged him tighter, "but I had to take the chance."

"Time- _ _loop,__ not warp," he said, but she didn't seem to hear him.

"I can't believe we're gonna get married!"

"What?" His hands slid down her back and fell limply to her hips.

"You came to Chicago to propose, didn't you?"

"Uh..."

She tapped his chest over his heart. "Michael said you—"

"Jackie," he said, "would you still wanna be with me if we never got married?"

"What?"

"You heard me."

"You don't want to marry me?" She was frowning.

"Why the hell is that so damn important to you?"

She moved off his lap and sat next to him on the couch. "I have dreamed of my wedding since I was six-years-old, Steven."

"Yeah?" He turned toward her. "Who were you getting hitched to when you were six?" She looked at him as if she didn't understand. "You're the bride," he said. "There had to be a groom."

She was gazing at her hands now, which were on her knees. "I just envisioned myself in the pretty dress. The groom didn't matter."

"You ever see a problem with that?" he said, and she didn't answer. "So if, say, some rich-as-hell prince came along, and he proved his credentials, and you could see yourself nailing him—"

"Steven—"

"—would you bail on me if he proposed to you?"

Jackie slapped her knees and stood up. "I'm doing this."

"Answer the question, Jackie."

"I thought you forgave me!"

"Yeah, for almost fucking Kelso," he said. "Not for..."

"'Not for...' what, Steven?"

"Me or a wedding, doll. It's your choice."

"Oh, you are __not__ doing this," she said.

Hyde stood up, too, and took her hand. She didn't pull away, but her fingers didn't respond to his touch. "You can have me in your life," he said, "for the rest of mine—or a wedding with someone else. You can't have both."

She groaned. "Why are you so against weddings, you—you wedding-hater?"

"So, basically, you're telling me you can't choose."

"Whatever, Steven." She freed herself from his hand and charged past him to the basement door "I think you need some more time in that time-warp," she said, and the door slammed behind her.

"Time-loop!" he shouted. "Crap."

8:26 P.M. He settled back onto the couch and watched the episode of __ChiPS__ he'd seen too many times.

8:27 P.M. He thought about "tomorrow". He needed a plan.

8:51 P.M. A plan crystallized in his mind, a wicked one—in both senses of the word.

9:03 P.M.

Kelso hurtled into the basement and shouted, "Did you fade away yet?"

"Am I sitting here?" Hyde said.

"Yeah." Kelso plucked a Popsicle from the deep freeze. "Are you and Jackie okay?"

"No." Hyde snatched the Popsicle as Kelso sat on the couch. "You gotta quit telling her I went to Chicago to propose, man."

"But you did! You said it while you chased me around the parking lot last night. 'I was gonna fucking propose to her, you asshole,' you said."

"Right." Hyde picked at the edge of his band-aid, the one covering his knee. "When did you tell her I said it?"

"This morning. That's why she made us drive back here," Kelso said.

"Huh." Hyde gave him back the Popsicle. Kelso's mouth was as big as Fez's, and it had reinforced a shitty idea in Jackie's head—but it also made her come home, so even trade.

For the next two hours, they watched __The Love Boat__ and __Fantasy Island,__ both of which were technically new episodes, but Hyde had seen them dozens of times already. To freak Kelso out, he bet him twenty bucks he could predict exactly what the characters would say.

"This'll be the easiest money I ever made," Kelso said, "outside of selling my love nectar."

Hyde grabbed a notepad and a pen from the basement shelves. Then he wrote down the first lines of the next segment and handed the pad to Kelso.

When the lines were spoken, Kelso tossed him a twenty and sulked.

"You'll get it back tomorrow, you big baby." Hyde stuffed the twenty in his pocket and, out of boredom, recited the rest of the lines along with the show.

"How are you doing that?" Kelso said.

"Seen these too many times..." Hyde sucked in a breath. "Man, you still don't get how being stuck in the same day works, do ya?"

"Okay, okay... what am I gonna do next?"

"You're gonna say 'Ow,'" Hyde said and punched him in the arm.

"OW!" Kelso clutched his triceps. "I get it, I get it... __God.__ _"_

12:00 A.M.

_Saturday Night Live_ was playing on the TV, but Kelso was staring at Hyde. "You're still here."

"Yup," Hyde said, and Kelso smiled.

"I knew you were lying."

"Doesn't happen until 7:59 A.M., man."

"But that's tomorrow," Kelso said.

"Yeah, but I can't __stay__ there. I always wake up on Saturday."

"I don't wanna stay up all night."

"No one asked you to," Hyde said.

Kelso crossed his arms. "Fine. I'm staying. But if you're still here at eight in the morning, I want my twenty bucks back."

Hyde smirked. "It's yours, man."

1:14 A.M.

Hyde picked up the phone from the spool table. It was time to call the Elkhart, Illinois police department.

"Who're you calling?" Kelso said, but Hyde gestured at him to shut up.

"Hi, yeah, I'd like to report a crime in progress," Hyde said into the phone. "Village Parking. Level Two, section J. Rape. Uh-huh. Guy's about 6'2, wearing a black sweatshirt. No weapons. Sam Hobart... Okay." He hung up. The conversation was the same each time—except tonight, when they'd asked him who he was, he changed the name he gave them.

Kelso was staring at him again, and Hyde explained the call... most of it. "If you're pulling a burn on me," Kelso said, "this will be the most freakin' awesome burn ever!"

"It's not a burn, man. Not on you, at least."

Kelso yawned but sat up straight. "Okay, I really gotta stay awake for this. Let's go make some coffee. Maybe if you drink enough, you'll stay up past eight A.M."

4:40 A.M.

Hyde and Kelso were jacked up on coffee and playing cards in the kitchen. Hyde had tried this trick with coffee before, more than once, and always—at 7:59 A.M, after a flash of black—he woke up to that damn ABBA song. But watching Kelso get wired on coffee was amusing. All that caffeine made him jittery... and crap at cards. _  
_

6:17 A.M.

They were back in the basement and in the middle of a game of _Monopoly._ Hyde had duped Kelso into giving him both the red monopoly and the yellow, which turned the north side of the board into a lucrative deathtrap.

"No 6, no 6, no 6," Kelso said and threw the dice. "Damn it!" He'd rolled an 8, which landed him on Ventnor Avenue.

"925 bucks," Hyde said.

"This blows. If I land on you again, I'm screwed." Kelso forked over the cash. Then he gasped and knocked the board in the process. All of the houses and hotels skidded to the right. "Hey, if you really go back to Saturday, can we, like, rob a bank together or something? I've always wanted to try that."

"You're a cop, man. You're supposed to catch bank robbers."

"Yeah, but I wanna know what it's like being on the other side."

Hyde shook the dice between his cupped hands. "You won't remember the day after."

"But you will, right?" Kelso said, and Hyde nodded. "So you can tell me how I liked it."

"Actually... I tried robbing a bank in Rockford, Illinois. Totally blew it."

"That's 'cause you didn't have me."

Hyde laughed. "Right."

7:08 A.M.

Hyde and Kelso were both yawning on the couch when Mrs. Forman came down the basement stairs. "Steven, Michael, have you two been up all night?" she said. "There's coffee grinds all over the kitchen counter."

Hyde frogged Kelso for what had to be the thirtieth time in the last twenty-three hours. "I told you to clean that up."

"It'll clean itself up in an hour," Kelso said. His eyes were half closed.

"It's too early for this," Mrs. Forman said, "and I have to get ready for Church." She went back upstairs, and Hyde would've followed if he weren't so tired. She deserved better than to wake up to his mess—Kelso's mess—whatever.

He yawned and slapped his face to send some adrenaline into his system. He'd made it this far. Less than an hour to go.

7:59 A.M.

"I'm sorry," Kelso said, scratchy-throated

Hyde rubbed his eyes and stretched. "For what, man?"

"For making a move on Jackie. She said no the first time I offered."

"You made the first move?" Hyde suddenly felt awake.

"Come on, Hyde. It's me."

"Sure is."

"I got the idea when I was in the shower," Kelso said. "She was really scared, man, crying. Kept saying how she was in a nightmare, how she wanted to wake up. So I offered again, and she told me to make sure no one could see us doing it from anywh..."

Kelso's voice faded out. Hyde had fallen asleep, but he woke up a second later refreshed—and in the Shooting Star Motel.


	11. Till Death Do Us Part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do” (C) ABBA; 1993 Polydor / Umgd.

CHAPTER 11  
 **TILL DEATH DO US PART**

It was morning 277, and Hyde spent less than a minute within his motel room's grimy walls. He spared twenty seconds to change from his odor-ridden Stones shirt, didn't bother to shut off the radio alarm, and ran downstairs to the lobby.

Phyllis was standing behind the concierge desk as always, violet blouse, frizzy red hair held back by chipped tortoiseshell barrettes. She was a rough kind of woman, he'd discovered. Off the job, she liked her liquor hard and her men harder. Claimed to be a crack shot at pool and to be more limber than she looked. A bunch of boasting, a bunch of neediness, all wrapped up in a greasy, bloated package that he found sickening.

Hyde dumped his duffel bag on the floor and strode toward her with purpose. "What can I do for you, sweetheart?" she said. She was leaning forward on the desk, and he was close enough to inhale her pungent coffee breath.

The smell almost made him abandon his objective, but he cupped her face in his hands and brought his lips to hers. She strengthened the kiss immediately, gripping the back of his head with her chubby hands, thrusting her sour tongue deep past his teeth. __Fuck,__ it was bad. Her taste and forceful movement felt like a striking cobra coated in shit. But he did his best to match her rhythm—

Just long enough to be convincing. Twenty seconds. Then he tore himself away and pulled her plump earlobe into his mouth for another six. "I need to borrow your gun to scare a guy," he whispered. "When I return it, I'll fuck your brains out."

Wordlessly, Phyllis withdrew from him. She ducked behind the desk and popped up with the snub nose .38 special in her hand. "I dunno how you knew I had a gun, hot stuff, but I get off at three." The gun's silver barrel pressed against Hyde's cheek, rubbed along his sideburn. "And I __better__ get off, if you catch my meaning."

"You will, m—baby. You will." He took the gun from her and hid it in his denim jacket. The inner pocket was a bit too small, couldn't fit the whole thing, but the handle was snug enough and would keep the gun from falling out—as long as he remained upright.

He left the motel, and the residue of Phyllis's kiss stuck to his mouth like rotten chili. Nausea heated his stomach and burned his throat, but he was on the road by 8:06 A.M. For once, Kelso's advice had worked.

Nine minutes later, Hyde pulled up to the accident on the highway. Mr. Hobart was standing beside his wrecked Mazda, and Chad was next to the Dodge Ramcharger with his arms crossed. Hyde got out of the Camino and heard Chad's belligerently repeated, "No, no, no!"

"Mr. Hobart," Hyde said. He grasped Mr. Hobart's shoulder, and the man twisted around to look at him. Hyde had taken the .38 from his jacket. "Stand back."

"You have to help me—" Mr. Hobart said.

"Yeah, I know." Hyde stepped in front of him and pointed the snub nose barrel at Chad's chest. "Get in your fucking car and drive."

Chad stared at the gun. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Is this a joke?" Chad was smiling that incredulous smile of his.

"Yeah..." Hyde shot a bullet straight in the air, and the blast echoed up and down Green Bay Road. The cars jammed behind the accident honked their horns in response. "But it won't be funny 'til I shoot you." He retrained the gun on Chad.

"Shit!" Chad moved fast for a big guy. He disappeared into his S.U.V. and sped down the highway.

"Mr. Hobart," Hyde put the gun back inside his jacket and got into the Camino, "I'll get you an ambulance." He shut the car door.

"Thank you," Mr. Hobart said. He had to shout over the non-stop blaring of car horns. "Thank God!"

With the S.U.V. gone, Hyde could drive past the Mazda. Chad had turned off the highway somewhere, so Hyde gunned it down Green Bay Road to Pine Avenue. The payphone stood there unoccupied. He stashed the .38 in Camino's glove compartment. No need to use it again, not today.

8:44 A.M.

Hyde was standing across the street from the hospital's emergency entrance, and he watched as paramedics wheeled Mrs. Hobart inside on a gurney. Her very pregnant stomach jutted from her shirt like a giant watermelon, and the thought her kid could already be dead in there made his fists clench. The paramedics had gotten her to the hospital eleven minutes earlier than yesterday. He hoped it was enough. It had to be.

But he wouldn't know that for at least an hour, not until Mrs. Forman called to find out for him. She was still at home—and twelve minutes later, he was home, too. For the first time in a long time, he entered through the house's front door. Donna was in the basement, Red was in the kitchen, and he couldn't risk seeing either of them with the .38 in his pocket.

He crept upstairs to Forman's room. The place smelled like fresh sheets; Mrs. Forman must have remade the bed "yesterday" after Forman left for the airport. _ _Star Wars__ figures and G.I. Joes covered the shelves, nudie mags littered the closet floor, and Hyde's throat tensed as he hid the gun in Forman's coat. Being here, surrounded by all of Forman's stuff... hurt.

Too many September 8ths, he'd mentally asked Forman what the hell he should do, and every time he got no answer. But beyond that—beating out the summers Forman had gone off to camp—this was the longest Hyde had ever been without him. It sucked, man, and the thought made Hyde slam the closet door.

It fucking sucked.

His next stop was the bathroom down the hall. A bottle of Listerine sat on the sink, and he poured it into his mouth until his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's. But he couldn't swish it around that way, so he spat some of it out and gargled—long after the stuff began to sting his throat and tongue. He needed to burn Phyllis's kiss from his mouth. Too bad he couldn't do the same to his memory.

And no damn way was he going back to the motel today. He'd rather make out with Fez than uphold his part of the bargain. But if the day took like he hoped, he'd empty the gun of its bullets, wipe off his fingerprints, and let Kelso deal with it.

9:18 A.M.

The Point Place branch of Hyde's bank was smaller than Kenosha's, but they were both open on Saturday mornings, and the tellers were equally slow. He withdrew a thousand dollars more than usual, the six grand for Sam and the extra for himself. That left less than 200 bucks in his account, but being broke for a little while didn't mean crap if it got him to freedom.

9:31 A.M.

Hyde had sent the package off to Sam and returned to the hospital. Though he hadn't eaten yet today, he skipped the cafeteria and went straight to the third floor. His appetite was buried beneath a crushing anxiety. His arms and legs felt leaden, but his senses were in overdrive. Orderlies' voices pierced his skull, the hospital lights broke through his shades, and the smell of disinfectant stung his nose. Before September 8th, he would've bolted and smoked himself to peaceful oblivion. But this day had no real escape, not unless his theory about Mrs. Hobart was right.

He trudged to the nurse's desk where Mrs. Forman was giving another nurse instructions about a patient. She interrupted herself at the sight of him, "Steven?" and seemed addled by his presence. "Oh, um..." she returned her attention to the nurse, handed over a chart, and sent her off.

Hyde's hands clutched the edge of the nurse's desk. "Mrs. Forman—"

"What's wrong, honey?" She reached toward him and cradled his cheek. "You look like you've just lost your best friend."

He couldn't help but lean into her touch. It was comforting—and far more welcome than Phyllis's had been.

"Oh, no," Mrs. Forman said with a frown. "Did something happen between you and Jackie?"

"No, we're—"

"It's Eric, isn't it?" She covered her heart and took a breath. "You miss him as much as I do, don't you?"  
"Uh..." He pulled her hand from his cheek and held it. Usually he knew how to keep his shit from showing, but his face must have looked like hell. "Yeah, but it's something else."

Today's Mrs. Forman had no knowledge of Mrs. Hobart or the accident, so he explained it to her as quickly as possible.

"Of course I'll find out about her status for you," she said, and that was all she said because a doctor swept her into a hospital room.

Hyde tried distracting himself with a magazine in the waiting area, but his brain wouldn't absorb anything it read. Focusing on the hospital's beige walls didn't calm him down, and going to the bathroom to spark up wasn't an option. So he spent the next twenty-one minutes pacing the floor. More than once, an orderly asked him if he was all right, and Hyde answered, "Fine" and kept pacing.

He felt like a caged tiger. His normal defense mechanisms were shot, and he couldn't get any distance from his anxiety. He didn't like it, and fresh adrenaline surged into his chest once Mrs. Forman reappeared at the nurses' desk.

She picked up the phone, and he hurtled toward the desk—and crashed into an orderly carrying a tray of food. Cherry Jell-O and scrambled eggs splattered onto Hyde's green "Stops At All Bars" shirt, leaving red and yellow splotches.

"Bonehead," the orderly said. He walked away with the messed-up tray and continued to mutter. "This is a damn hospital. You coulda hurt someone."

Hyde approached the nurse's desk more carefully now and listened to Mrs. Forman's half of the phone conversation. "I see," she said. "That's just—that's heartbreaking. Yes, I know... I know. Thank you."

She hung up, and Hyde slammed the desk with an open hand. "Damn it!"

"I'm sorry, honey," she said, but he barely heard it.

The hospital floor had gone dark to him. No sounds made it to his ears. But warmth flowed into his palm—Mrs. Forman. She was pulling him somewhere.

"I can't get her here any earlier," he mumbled. "I can't save them."

A door closed behind him; he'd heard the sound. Then he saw a desk covered in papers, a small window in a white wall, and a poster of the human skeletal system. Mrs. Forman had taken him into an office.

"That was very noble of you to try to save Mrs. Hobart," she said.

He stared at the patterned carpet on the floor. Black squiggles wove in and out of gray geometrical blocks, and his eyes followed them to the wall's baseboard. His anger had been ignited like gunpowder, causing pressure to build inside his body. "He should've gotten them a damn ambulance," he said.

"Who?"

"The guy Mr. Hobart crashed into... He should've—" He tried to shut his anger down, but the pressure needed release. His fist shot out like a bullet and smashed into the wall. "Selfish fuck!"

"Steven!" Mrs. Forman grasped his right hand gently. His knuckles were bleeding, and he couldn't uncurl his fingers. "You might have broken your hand," she said. "We have to get it X-rayed."

He let her guide him from the office, but his hand meant shit to him. "She's gonna—" His voice hitched. "She would've died no matter what I did. Her kid..."

Mrs. Forman rubbed his back and brought him to the nurses' station. "Some things are just out of our control, sweetie. Believe me, I wish we could save every patient. But when it's their time to go, it's their time to go. Even when—even when it's an innocent baby."

She took out an instant cold pack from behind the desk but didn't give it to him yet. She was searching for something—a thin towel.

"Priscilla," she said to the young nurse beside her, "activate this please." She passed the cold pack to the nurse and grasped Hyde's hand again. "Oh, my. The knuckles are already swelling. Can you move your fingers?" He tried, but pain drove into them and up his wrist. "Okay... um, I'll have to take your ring off, honey—if I can." She pulled the eyeball ring off his right pinky and slipped it onto his left. "There."

Priscilla had wrapped the cold pack in the towel, and Mrs. Forman pressed it to his swelling hand. He bit back a grunt at the pain worsened.

"I know it hurts, Steven," Mrs. Forman said, "but it'll numb out soon." Then she turned to the other nurse. "Prissy, I'm going to take him down to radiology, okay?"

"Oh, I can do that, Kitty," Priscilla said.

Mrs. Forman shook her head. "I'm not going as a nurse. I'm going as a mother."

Priscilla smiled. "I understand."

Hyde stiffened. Without Forman around, all of Mrs. Forman's motherly instincts were trained on him. It made him uncomfortable. But on their way to the elevators, she whispered, "I'll get you a lollipop," and his discomfort skulked away.

11:59 A.M.

Mrs. Forman stayed with Hyde throughout the X-ray and into a doctor's office. Turned out he'd broken the major knuckle of his middle finger. The doctor was splinting his hand while Mrs. Forman sat on a stool beside them. She'd used her pull at the hospital to keep Hyde from waiting too long.

"How did things go with Jackie?" Mrs. Forman said.

"Haven't figured it out yet," Hyde said. The doctor was wrapping his index, middle, and ring fingers together with cotton.

"That girl loves you, Steven. I know she does." She pulled a lime lollipop from her pink cardigan and gave it to him. "Love doesn't stop just because you get angry at each other or make mistakes or—or you're such a hardass your wife's baby boy runs away to teach math to elephants." She shut her eyes, inhaled a deep breath, and started to laugh. "I'm sorry, honey. Where was I? Right. Jackie. Any fool can see how in love with you she is."

"Yeah..." He stuffed the lollipop into his jeans pocket. He'd save it for later. "But I'm not sure if she's more in love with getting freakin' married."

Mrs. Forman gestured dismissively. "Oh, all girls are in love with the idea of marriage. When I was young, I wanted my wedding in Gripsholm castle—that's in Sweden. It overlooks this beautiful lake, and I'd imagine a full orchestra playing Mendelssohn's 'Wedding March'." She glanced down and began to play with her wedding ring. "But I didn't get the castle, the lake, or the orchestra. I got Red, which is far more than I could've dreamed when I was a child. Far better than any castle could ever be."

"Mr. Hyde, how does this feel?" the doctor said. He'd fastened straps around Hyde's fingers and the metal splint supporting them.

"Little tight, man," Hyde said and focused back on Mrs. Forman. "Hey, if you had to choose between Red with a no-frills justice-of-the-peace wedding or some other guy and the castle wedding you wanted as a kid..."

"Red," she said without hesitation. "It's not the wedding, Steven. It's the marriage. A wedding is—well, it's a very nice party, but marriage is about making a life together."

"Is that better?" the doctor said.

Hyde looked looked at his splinted right hand. It felt fine now. The medication he'd taken to reduce the pain and swelling was working, and Mrs. Forman's words had helped, too.

"Mr. Hyde?" the doctor said.

"Yeah," Hyde said. "Everything's feeling better."

* * *

Hyde couldn't drive himself home with his splinted hand, so Mrs. Forman called Red to pick him up. Red arrived a half-hour later in the Vista Cruiser, and Hyde met him in the hospital parking lot. Red being pulled from work: A definite mood-destroyer. Red having to walk the fifteen minutes back to the house: Another mood-destroyer. And Red driving to the hospital? Hyde was surprised the 'Cruiser hadn't burst into flames.

But once Hyde got into the car, Red didn't ream him out like he expected, just said, "You did what you could, son." Mrs. Forman must have filled him in on the details. "You planning on going to work today?"

"No."

"Good. You've earned a day off."

"Thanks, Red," Hyde said and sank back into the seat. But his day wasn't over yet. Far from it.

12:48 P.M.

Red led Hyde into the Formans' kitchen and gestured for him to sit at the table. "Kitty told me to make sure you eat lunch. Is ham all right?"

"Yeah," Hyde said and sat down.

"Good 'cause that's what you're getting." Red pulled out the ingredients for a ham sandwich and slapped one together. "You want a beer?"

"Definitely."

Red took a beer from the fridge, opened it, and passed it to Hyde. Then he put the sandwich on a plate and placed it in front of him. "I've gotta get back to work." He patted Hyde's shoulder, "Take care of yourself," and exited to the back porch.

The kitchen door swung open a moment afterward, and Jackie dashed inside. "Steven!" she said. Her face was tear-streaked, and the too-familiar sight made his stomach shrink a little.

"Hey," he said and took a large bite of sandwich. Fez and Donna had entered the kitchen right after her, and Fez was eying his sandwich hungrily.

"Steven," Jackie sat beside him and tried to hold his splinted hand. "Steven, I'm so—" She looked down and gasped. "What happened? Oh, my God, did you beat up Michael? Steven, we didn't—"

"I punched a wall," Hyde said casually and swallowed some beer.

Now Fez gasped. "By Kelso's beautiful face? Ai, no..."

"Haven't seen Kelso today, and..." Hyde ate another large bite of sandwich, inadvertently making everyone wait for the rest of his sentence, "I forgive you for Chicago."

Jackie's eyes widened. "You do?"

"You do?" Donna repeated, sounding more surprised than Jackie. She sat down on Hyde's other side and sniffed his beer. "What's in this stuff? 'Cause I want some."

Jackie reached across the table and slapped her wrist. "Shut up, Donna!"

But Fez sat at the table, too. "No, I would also like to know," he took the beer from Donna, "because Kelso was naked in a towel." He stuck his nose in the can's opening. "Oh, I wish I had been there."

"Gimme that." Hyde swiped the beer from Fez and drank it down. Every damn time he came here, he was gonna have to explain himself. He'd have to develop a shorthand to get in and out of this conversation fast. "Look," he said and turned to Jackie, "you were scared after what went down between us, trapped. And Kelso was the only freakin' safe place you had. I understand, okay? I get it."

Jackie's mouth opened slightly, and and she patted his arm. "Yes... Yes, Steven—yes! That's exactly it."

_"What?"_ Donna and Fez both said.

Hyde held Jackie's hand with his unbroken one. "What're you gonna do about your job?" he said. "Don't you have to go back to Chicago tomorrow?"

"That depends..." she tilted her head and looked at him coyly, "are you gonna propose?"

__Pretty damn confident now, huh?__ he wanted to say but controlled himself. "Donna, Fez," he said, "vamoose."

Fez's brow wrinkled. "I am not a moose. I am a stallion."

"I think he wants us to leave, Fez," Donna said and stood from the table.

"Why do you want them to leave?" Jackie said. "If you're about to do what I think you're gonna do..." She frowned. "Unless, you're—unless you're not."

Hyde gestured to the sliding door. "Donna..."

"Come on, Fez." Donna grabbed Fez by the sleeve and dragged him out of the kitchen. Hopefully, the idea to nail him hadn't crossed her mind, but Hyde couldn't stop it even if it had. Jackie took precedence today.

"So, doll," he said and stroked Jackie's cheek, "you wanna get hitched?"

"Oh, my God!" She burst into a smile. "Yes, Steven! Yes!" She flung her arms around his neck, covered his face in kisses. "Get down on one knee."

"I'm not gonna do that."

She withdrew her arms, returned to her seat. Her smile had turned into a pout. "But I've always imagined being proposed to on one knee, __and,__ _"_ she thrust a finger at him, "you're lucky I'm letting you propose to me in the Formans' tacky kitchen."

He resisted the urge to hit her finger away. Man, did she get cocky quick. "You wanna be proposed to," he said, "or do you wanna keep _imagining_ being proposed to?"

She groaned. "Fine. But you better have a ring for me."

"Matter of fact, I do." He grasped his eyeball ring with his teeth and slid it off his pinky. Then he dropped it into his palm. "Here ya go."

Jackie glanced down at the ring, blinked, then glanced back up at him. "Is this a joke?"

"Nope. That's the ring. Take it or leave it."

She huffed out a breath but tentatively picked up the ring. "

__Eww__ _..._ it's wet!"

"It's proposal spit. You gonna put it on?"

"This is just an interim ring, right?" She wiped the ring on Hyde's jeans then slipped it on her ring finger.

He nodded. "Yeah, 'cause my uncle Chet got me that, and I'll want it back."

"Steven!" She swatted his shoulder.

"One more thing," he said. "You wanna get married, right?"

"More than anything."

"Then we gotta get married _now._ "

"What?"

"Today," he said. "I know a place—"

"No, no, no. Steven," she stood up and stared down at him, "I have it all planned out. And we'd have to get a license first. That'll take at least five days, but I'm not rushing this. I've—"

He was standing now, too. "We'll make the arrangements for the license, man, but we gotta have the ceremony today. The license can come later. Like I was saying, I knows a place that'll do it."

"But wh-what about my glorious wedding? I haven't even bought the gown!"

"Is that all you wanna marry me for?" The scowl he'd tried so hard to keep down surfaced. "So you can have a damn wedding?"

"No, of course not." Her fingertips tugged on the fabric of his shirt, near his heart. "It's about starting a life, baby. But I also want my wedding. I've dreamed of it since I was six-years-old."

"Well," he crossed his arms over his chest, making her fingers retreat, "you can have your dream or me. Your choice."

Her expression darkened. "You're punishing me, aren't you? You're haven't forgiven me at all."

"You got a choice, Jackie: Dream wedding or married to me. I'll give you..." he looked at his watch, "until three to decide."

He headed for the basement stairs, but she said, "I choose you," before he got to the first step. He froze. His unbroken hand gripped the door jamb. "Steven, _please._ " The fear in her voice made him turn around. "I choose you, Puddin'," she said, reaching toward him. "We'll get—we'll get married. Today."

He strode back to her and gave her a deep and tender kiss. He hadn't expected her to answer so quickly, but the kiss felt only three-fourths right. "You'll have to drive," he said afterward.

"Okay," she said. "Okay, but can Donna go with us to be our witness?"

"They got a guy," he said.

She sighed. "Fine. Fine, Steven. Whatever."

"There ya go." He tapped the underside of her chin gently. "Let's get hitched."

1:41 P.M.

Jackie had to drive the Vista Cruiser since the Camino was still at the hospital, and she didn't look happy. Hyde had no idea how far she was willing to go for him or how she'd react when the prospect of a quickie wedding became the real thing. But he was gonna push her until she broke—or proved him wrong.

They pulled up to the Death Do Us Part Chapel in Kenosha and got out of the car. Jackie peered up at the squat building's cartoonish painting of a bride and groom."Steven," she said, "you've made your point, okay?"

"What point? We're gettin' married..." he arched an eyebrow, "unless you're backing out."

She sighed for a second time, "Let's go," and pushed open the chapel's door.

They entered the wood-paneled receptionist area, and Margaret greeted them at the front desk. "Welcome to the Death Do Us Part Wedding Chapel," she said. Her dark gray hair was in the same tight bun as before, and her voice still sounded warm in contrast. "How can I help you you two lovebirds?"

"We wanna tie the knot," Hyde said. "Next available service."

"Congratulations, sir. Do you have your wedding license?"

"No!" Jackie shouted. "Guess we can't do it. Sorry to have bothered you." She tried to pull Hyde away, but his unbroken hand held her tightly at the desk.

"Yeah, we're gonna do the ceremony first and get the license after," he said to Margaret.

"Well..." Margaret pulled out her pen, "it's unusual, but it's been done before. I can give you the two o'clock, okay?"

He nodded and glimpsed at the wire chairs by the wall. They were empty. The last time he was here, it had been almost three hours earlier, and those chairs were empty then, too. Man, no wonder the chapel was so lax about everything. It probably didn't get a lot of business.

"You'll have to bring the license here once you've received it," Margaret continued, "so Gary—the officiator—and Murry, the witness, can sign it. We'll also need to be __paid__ now, however."

"No problem," he said, but Jackie was tapping her foot. Yup. She was upset, all right.

"It'll be $300-total for bridal gown and groom tux, the ceremony itself, and the pictures." Margaret gestured at Jackie. "Let me see your hand, young lady." Jackie did—just like Sam had—and Margaret grimaced. "Is this... __eyeball__ your engagement ring?"

"An interim ring," Jackie said. "My fiancé didn't think things through, apparently."

He smirked. She had no idea.

Margaret turned her frown on him, just like the last time, and pointed the pen at his face. "You need to get this woman a proper engagement ring. Fortunately for you, we have a lovely selection."

She took that cherrywood jewelry box from behind the desk and opened the lid. Inside were the diamond rings, and the ring Hyde had bought for Sam—the fat diamond surrounded by two smaller sapphires—captured Jackie's attention.

"That one!" she said. "How much does it cost?"

"Four-hundred-and-fifty dollars," Margaret said.

"Steven..." Jackie plumped out her bottom lip. It was a needless tactic. He'd already planned on getting her that ring.

"Yeah, we'll take that one," he said, and she clapped cheerfully as Margaret handed him the diamond ring.

"Baby," Jackie said and gave him back the eyeball ring, "will you __please__ get on one knee and propose to me properly?"

"Because you asked nicely..." He knelt down. "Jackie Beulah Burkhart," she glared at him, but her eyes softened once he held the diamond ring out to her, "marry me, okay? Let's get this shit over with."

"Steven!" His name was a growl in her throat. She snatched the ring from him and put it on her finger. "If you don't have something better planned for the vows, I'll kick you when we're on the altar."

He was surprised she hadn't kicked him already, but he stood up again. "What about wedding rings?" he said to Margaret. "We don't have those, either."

Margaret pulled out the box with gold and silver wedding bands

"You pick," he told Jackie, and it took her five seconds to choose the most expensive pair—which he couldn't afford. "Try again," he said. "You got two-hundred-and-fifty bucks."

She pinpointed a set of rings that cost $249. He couldn't help but be impressed.

Margaret totaled up their bill: $999. Hyde took out the cash from his denim jacket, and a tiny sound escaped Jackie's mouth as he paid the bill. She'd never seen him carry around that much money before, but he doubted her shock came from the thick wad of cash. Paying a bill was an act of finality. It meant this wedding was really happening.

1:49 P.M.

Margaret brought them into the wedding hall, and Jackie sucked in a sharp breath. The white fluffy carpet, the chairs draped in white cloth, the altar covered in flowers—she must have hated it. Hyde suppressed a chuckle. _All the better._

Margaret picked up the Polaroid camera from a table, but Jackie put her hand on it. "No, we won't need any pictures."

"All right." Margaret led them to the private dressing rooms hidden in the wall. Then she asked Jackie her dress size.

"Two," Jackie said.

"Oh, dear. We don't carry dresses that small. A size 4 and a size 6 are in the dressing room already."

Jackie didn't say anything. She slipped into the dressing room quietly, and Margaret began to walk up the aisle. Hyde walked beside her.

She stopped. "Where do you think you're going?" Her eyes were fixed on the egg and Jell-O stains on his shirt. "You're supposed to be changing."

He took off his shades and hooked them on his shirt collar. "Done."

"Honestly..." She resumed her walk up the aisle, and he followed her. She stepped in front of Gary and Murray, who were both sitting on the white-draped chairs. "Murray," she handed him the wedding rings. Then she gestured for Gary to meet her at the altar. They spoke together in low tones. Hyde couldn't hear their conversation, but he wasn't interested in it either.

He pulled out the lollipop Mrs. Forman had given him earlier. Tearing off the plastic wrapping was hard thanks to his broken hand, but he managed with his teeth. He stuck the lime pop in his mouth and sat next to Murray.

"That how you're getting married?" Murray said.

"Yup."

"She one of those Russian brides? Needs a green card?"

"No."

"You a rich fella?"

Hyde didn't answer. The old guy needed to mind his damn business.

Murray ran a hand through his thinning gray hair. "You don't love her."

"F—" Hyde's jaws clamped down on the lollipop before the words "Fuck you" could leave him. Cursing at the guy wouldn't serve his purpose.

"She sure loves you, though," Murray said. "Hear that?"

Hyde didn't know what the hell he was getting at, but then a whimper reached him from up the aisle.

He glanced behind him at the dressing rooms. More sad sounds—sobbing, Jackie's.

"Crap." He hurried to her dressing room and knocked on the door. "Jackie..."

The door opened. Jackie was standing there in a too-big wedding dress, holding up its rumpled bodice. She looked like a kid playing in her mother's clothes.

"Steven, I can't do this!" she said. Her wet, frightened eyes threatened to make him carry her out of the chapel and pull the plug on his plan. But he had to see it through.

"Just wear the clothes you wore here," he said. "You look totally hot in 'em."

Her face brightened a little. "Really?"

"Yup. I'm not wearing the monkey suit anyway, so we'll match. And no pictures, so no one'll know what you were wearing."

"Okay..." She closed the dressing room door slowly, and he went to the altar.

Three minutes later, at 2:01 P.M., Jackie came back out in her street clothes. Murray handed her a clump of tissues, a bouquet of silk roses, and brought her to the back of the aisle. Margaret turned on a record player by the altar; a scratchy __Here Comes the Bride__ played from the speakers.

Hyde watched as Murray escorted Jackie toward the altar. She wasn't smiling, wasn't frowning, but having a stranger walk her down the aisle instead of her dad—definitely not something she could've dreamed of.

Hyde's gaze lowered to Jackie's navy blue top. Her dad going to prison, she hadn't dreamt of that either.

Or her damn mother running off the moment he got busted.

His gaze lowered further to the waistband of Jackie's jeans. The facade of her perfect life had fallen apart. But she must have known, man. Or _felt_ the falseness of it somewhere. Why else would she have tried to create an ideal, fake fucking life for herself? First with Kelso... then with him.

His gaze lowered to Jackie's tan platform sandals, and his tongue flipped the lollipop over in his mouth. Bud and Edna had never disguised how fucked up their family was. He always knew he carried a bunch of shit inside him. But Jackie must have felt like something fundamental was missing, only she didn't have the means to figure it out.

Hyde's gaze was no longer on Jackie at all but his own boots, and his unbroken hand balled into a fist. She couldn't even acknowledge it, man—that anything was wrong. All she saw on the outside—her fancy house, her dad's expensive gifts, her parents' fake relationship—must have confused the hell outta her.

A total mind-fuck.

"Steven, will you look at me, at least?"

"Huh?" He lifted his gaze. Jackie was standing at the altar, staring at him. "Sorry."

Gary opened the Bible on his lectern and began to read from it. "Ladies and Gentleman, we are gathered here today to..."

Hyde wasn't paying attention. His heart had collapsed in on itself like a hollow eggshell. Doing this to Jackie wasn't right, but he needed to know if she wanted him, the real him—not some damn fantasy.

By the time they got to the reciting of the vows, he shoved the dwindling lollipop to the back of his cheek and said, "I have my own I wanna say."

Jackie exhaled forcefully as if she'd been holding her breath "Oh, thank God." She passed the silk bouquet to Murray and held Hyde's unbroken hand with both of hers.

"All right," Gary said. "The groom will now recite his vows."

"Jackie, why didn't you stick around to hear my answer?" Hyde said.

She shook her head, as if she didn't understand.

"Before Chicago. When you gave me that freakin' 'Marry Me or You Lose Me' ultimatum."

"I thought you were gonna say no," she said.

Gary cleared his throat, but Hyde said, "Why?"

"You should've known the moment I asked you," she said. "You shouldn't have needed to spend all day getting drunk to figure it out." One of her hands flew to heart. " _I_ knew, Steven. A few months after we got back together the first time, I knew."

Hyde kept his voice level. "Did I say no right away?"

"Excuse me," Gary said. "You two seem like you have some things to work out. Are you really ready to do this?"

"Yes!" Jackie shouted.

"Yeah, after she answers the question," Hyde said. "Did I say no right away?"

She rolled her eyes. _"No."_

"That didn't tell ya anything?"

"What do you want me to say, Steven?"

"Maybe something about how you drove it out of me?" he said.

She withdrew her other hand from him. "Drove what out of you?"

Gary sighed and stuffed the Bible under his arm. Then he sat down next to Murray, who'd sat down thirty seconds ago.

"Before you started going crazy with all this marriage crap," Hyde said, "I actually figured we'd get hitched someday."

"You—" Jackie stepped closer to him. She was shaking. "You—" She pulled back her arm and struck Hyde hard across the face. The sound echoed through the wedding hall. "You bastard! You saw a future with me and never told me?"

"How the hell could I?" he said and rubbed his stinging cheek. Man, could she slap. "You would've demanded a fucking ring right then."

"Young man," Gary said, "I honor your need to have this conversation, but we have another wedding to prepare for in five minutes. Plus, that language isn't acceptable here. So either say 'I do' or do this another day."

Jackie hurled the diamond-and-sapphire ring at Hyde's head. Then she bolted down the aisle.

Hyde's mind called after her, but his voice had burrowed deep inside his chest. He tried to dig it out, and the wedding hall filled with coarse laughter. "Wow, did you tick her off," Murray said. "A woman never gives up jewelry unless she's furious." Then he leaned into Gary. "He doesn't love her. Look at him standing there, letting such a pretty gal get away like that."

"Yeah, keep flappin' your gums about crap you got no clue about," Hyde said, but Murray was right about one thing: He _was_ just standing there, staring at the door Jackie had just disappeared through. "Damn it." He ran to the receptionist area, tossed the remains of his lollipop into a trashcan, and caught sight of her outside the chapel. She was halfway down the sidewalk, hair whipping in the wind. He called out to her, and she charged back to him.

"When, Steven?" she said breathlessly. "When did you know you saw a future with me?"

"Uh..." He scratched the back of his head but forced himself to look at her angry, flushed face. He knew the answer to her question, but actually sharing it with her... whatever. Shit couldn't get much worse today. "Right around the time of Forman's wedding that never-was," he said.

"Donna and Eric's..." She lunged forward. Her fists hammered at him, his arms, his chest—any place they could reach. The punches stung but did no damage. He stopped her only when she went for his broken hand. "I hate you!" she screamed.

"Jackie—"

"No! Don't fucking talk." She was both crying and shouting. "I never wanna hear anything you have to say __ever__ again."

"Jackie, come on..." He reached for her clenched fingers, but she pulled away and started down the street again. He could've just let her go, but what was the point? Tomorrow would be the same as today. He maneuvered in front of her. "Why the hell are you freaking out?"

She clamped her mouth shut and attempted to get past him, but he matched her steps.

"Look," he said, "I'm not letting you go until y—OW!"

She'd kicked him in the shin. He bent over to clutch his leg, heard the shuffle-clack of her sandals on pavement. "Damn it!" He straightened up and raced after her. "Jackie!"

She turned around and growled. "I hate you, Steven Hyde!"

"Great," he said and managed to grab her arm.

He dragged her back to the 'Cruiser, but she only half-fought him. He shoved her into the passenger seat and got into the car himself. Then he started to drive—not an easy task with only one hand, but doable. He used his right wrist for stability. Everything in him wanted to shut down, but "tomorrow" would be no different unless he got some answers..

"Why do you hate me?" he said, but Jackie crossed her arms silently. Wrong question, apparently. "What the hell did I do?" She sighed heavily in response.

He drove down Roosevelt Road, considered turning on the radio 'cause he sure as hell wasn't getting anything useful out of her. He didn't know what else to ask...

So he quit asking.

"I love you," he said, and a small but powerful fist smashed into his cheek. It made him swerve the car off the road and into a telephone poll. Jackie's scream crashed into his ears as his brain slammed into the front of his skull. Neither of them had put on their seatbelts, and in the split-second of life he had left—before his ruptured blood vessels spilled enough blood to kill him—his last thought was of Jackie darting across a grassy meadow, gold shining at her breast, and a smile as bright as sunlight.


	12. The Whole "Jackie" Experience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do” (C) ABBA; 1993 Polydor / Umgd.

CHAPTER 12  
 **THE WHOLE "JACKIE" EXPERIENCE**

Hyde woke on his stomach like usual, on the sagging bed of his motel room. He popped open his eyes and saw the white 8:00 A.M. on the clock radio. Last thing he remembered, he'd told Jackie he loved her, and then...

Death number fifteen.

He rolled onto his back as laughter escaped him in giant, frothy waves. The mattress bounced with the force of his breath, and the lumpy pillow pressed into his skull. He always thought loving Jackie would be the death of him, but he hadn't known it would be so damn literal.

_When, Steven? When did you know you saw a future with me?_

She'd asked him that yesterday, and his answer had gotten them both killed. But he wasn't dead—which meant she wasn't, either. Just stuck. Both of them.

_"_ _ _I can't conceal it, don't you see?"__ Agnetha Fältskog and Frida Lyngstad sang at him. __"Can't you feel it? Don't you, too?"  
__  
He shut off the radio alarm. Day 278 of waking up to that damn ABBA song, and it never told him anything useful. He needed to get inside Jackie's head somehow, figure out what she wasn't telling him. Maybe it would help him get to fuckin' tomorrow. If not, at least he'd understand why she'd freaked out yesterday.

8:08 A.M. He was on the road. His right hand was no longer broken. It was nice being able to drive properly again.

8:17 A.M. He pulled the Camino up to the Mazda-S.U.V. accident.

8:22 A.M. He knocked out Chad, shaving off two minutes from yesterday. Mrs. Hobart and her unborn kid would die because of that fuck, and Hyde felt no mercy. He'd used his fists this time instead of Phyllis's gun, probably broke Chad's jaw. Definitely busted his nose. Hyde came away injury-free except for some sore knuckles.

8:30 A.M. Hyde called for the ambulance on Pine Avenue. It wouldn't change anything for Mrs. Hobart or her kid, but at least Mr. Hobart would know _someone_ gave a shit about him and his family.

8:38 A.M.

Hyde parked the banged-up S.U.V. on the Burkharts' gravel driveway. Jackie would be here in little over an hour, so he hopped onto the front porch and rang the doorbell. Pam answered the door a minute later.

"Well, hello," she said. "You're Jackie's friend... Sven, right?"

He made himself look at her face instead of the ground. "Yeah, can I come in?"

"Oh, well..." she glanced behind her, "Jackie's not home. She's in Chicago."

"I know. She's got a couple of my records. I'm here to get 'em back."

Pam hesitated. Then she said, "All right," and led him into the living room. "Would you like a drink?"

"No thanks." He forced his gaze to skim over her body, from her tight sweater to her jeans. Memories of what he'd done with her—and what it had caused Jackie to do—flooded him with shame. He had to get the hell over it. Jackie didn't remember, and even if that day _had_ taken, Pam's memory was a black hole anyway.

But he couldn't forget.

"Too pretty for Wisconsin?" Pam said.

"Uh..." he quit staring at her, "right."

Hyde high-tailed it up the staircase and entered Jackie's room at 8:41 A.M. He locked the door behind him. The pink walls and white carpet told him nothing he didn't already know about her: She was born a girly chick and would probably die a girly chick. He needed to dig deeper than the Andy Gibb poster tacked above her bed.

Her white bookshelf was lined with _Nancy Drew_ , old issues of _Cosmo,_ and a few of the books he'd given her, like Orwell's _Nineteen Eight-Four_ and Kesey's _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest._ But what he was looking for wouldn't be out in the open like that. He rifled through her dresser, through her panties and bras. He felt cagey without her being here. Snooping through other people's crap wasn't his deal. He didn't like doing it, breaching a person's privacy like this—especially Jackie's. His own privacy was one of the few things he valued, and searching her room made him a hypocrite.

But being a hypocrite who got to see tomorrow? Man, he'd take it.

Nothing interesting was in the dresser except for some frilly lingerie she'd never worn for him. She must have bought it relatively recently. He opened her desk drawer next. It was filled with markers, notebooks, and freakin' sparkly stickers. Underneath the notebooks were a few folders—and one marked "COLLEGE" in rainbow-colored letters. He pulled it out..

Inside the left flap were college acceptance letters from places as close as the University of Wisconsin-Parkside and as far as the University of Southern California. Inside the right flap were the rejection letters from scholarships she'd applied for as well as blank applications for student loans. He closed the folder. Jackie would never take a loan. Like him, she hated the idea of owing someone.

He went to her bed and continued his search. Her soft pillowcases hid nothing but pillows, so he got on his knees and swept an arm underneath the bed frame. His hand bumped into something hard—the cigar box containing things he'd given her. He sat on the bed with it and ransacked the contents.

Her grasshopper pendant lay on top of a bunch of cards. He used to write her those cards on days they weren't expected—and sometimes on days they were. But he only wrote 'em once she quit pestering him about every damn anniversary they had: The first time they made out in the mall's photo booth, the first time she beat him in chess, the first time he said "I love you" during sex. A smile crept on his lips, and he lifted out the grasshopper pendant. Actually, those "anniversaries" were kinda nice.

He let the gold grasshopper rest in his palm, where it cooled his skin and glinted in the light from Jackie's window. The pendant was the first and only piece of jewelry he'd bought her. Man, the sex it got him was some of the best, but—more than that—he remembered the expression on her face. Her smile that night was enough to make him hard. He'd put pendant around her neck, _I'm never taking this off, Steven,_ she'd said, and for six months she hadn't.

Then one day she just stopped wearing it. He'd chalked it up to boredom, her needing to switch up her jewelry. He never fucking mentioned it, but no longer seeing the pendant on her—well, it sucked.

He put the grasshopper aside and dug through the box. Underneath a birthday card, he found the haiku he'd written her on a Hub napkin:

_You haven't bored me,  
And your ass looks hot as hell.  
This date doesn't blow_

Hyde chuckled and put the napkin down. It was early into their relationship when he wrote that haiku. Jackie seemed insecure that night, and he wanted to make her feel better. It had worked, apparently, 'cause she'd kept the napkin.

The time on her clock radio— _fuck,_ she had one of those, too—read 8:53 A.M. He put everything back in the box and slid it under the bed. Then he checked her closet.

A third of her clothes were missing and half her shoes. She must have brought them to Chicago, and their absence left enough empty space that he found what he was looking for: Her violet diary with the golden lock. It was nestled in the back of the closet between a pair of knee-high boots. He grabbed it and pulled the lock pick from his pocket.

The diary was open in moments. He flipped to the first entry, June 13th, 1978:

_I had one of those dreams last night. You know, where Steven's looking at me without his stupid sunglasses on, and his beautiful blue eyes are... God, I love his eyes. Anyways, he starts talking in that soft voice he uses sometimes, and I tell him to shut up because he's turning me on too much. Then we make out, and I take off his shirt—_

_But the stupid alarm woke me before we could do more._

_So I had to finish myself off because that dream was... too real._ _Why can't Steven just live here with me?_

Hyde scratched the back of his neck. _Huh._ So Jackie _did_ self-service sometimes. One question answered, at least. He turned to the next entry, June 19th, 1978:

_Ugh. Donna's being so annoying about her wedding. It's in a few days. We get it. I know Eric ruined your wedding dress, but what did you expect? It's_ _ Eric, _ _d'uh!_

_I can't believe she's getting married before me._ _But I'm also kind of happy about it. Steven never would've seen me in that wedding dress if Eric hadn't been all Eric-y about groom shopping—and I never would've known Steven felt that way about me. The look on his face, I can't stop thinking about it. It's brought me a kind of peace, you know? Like, I don't have to worry about the future anymore. Like he's gonna be in my life forever. He's gonna be there._

_But he really should've taken advantage of that dressing room instead of shutting me inside it. Sometimes he can be so dense..._

"Fuck." Hyde closed the diary. Jackie wasn't writing about a wedding or an idea. She was writing about him. But that was over a year ago. Something had shifted. He needed to know when— _exactly_ when—that shift had happened. He reopened the diary and went to the next entry, June 23rd, 1978:

_No! NO! NO! NO! WHY DID HE HAVE TO DO THAT? Oh, my God... Oh, my God... I HATE YOU, ERIC FORMAN! YOU'VE RUINED EVERYTHING!_ _**EVERYTHING!** _

The page was ripped and spotted, as if she'd spat on it or cried. June 23rd, 1978... That was the day of Forman and Donna's wedding rehearsal. Hyde re-read the entry. Why the hell was Jackie so upset about it? Not like _she_ was marrying Forman.

Hyde sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was gonna take a while for him to unravel. He went to Jackie's bed, lay back on her pillows, and continued to read. June 26th, 1978:

_I should be with Steven right now instead of writing this, but the moment we got back to the Formans' he said he wanted to be alone. I'm really scared. I've mentioned marriage stuff twice since Eric ran away like a coward. It just flew out of my mouth, and I couldn't stop myself. What if I pissed Steven off?_

_The first time, I asked him if we could use the church Donna and Eric had booked, and he yelled "No!" The second time, he was in a suit, and I didn't know why. So I asked if he was going to propose. He barely seemed to hear me, though (thank God)._

_I've gotta control myself. Steven needs me now. He just found out he's got a new dad. I have to trust him. He loves me._

_But what if he can't handle this?_

_God, I hate his mother._

"That makes two of us, doll," Hyde said and stared at Jackie's pink ceiling. Man, she was a lot more aware of herself than he ever gave her credit for—or that she ever showed, 'specially in the last year.

He thumbed through the next three months of entries. A lot of stuff about W.B. and his money. Hyde's corporate job. A few entries about good sex; those he read carefully, but mostly she wrote: _He makes me feel so loved._. Some burns on Angie. Then he hit October 15th, 1978:

_Steven promised to go to the Daughters of Civilized Society dinner with me today._ _Thank God. He hates going to these things, and I don't really want to go myself. But I had to know if he_ _would_ _go._ _He hasn't said "I love you" to me in... well, a while. But he still loves me. He promised to go to this dinner, which shows me does._

He skipped the rest of October and most of November until the 29th:

_Steven and I went to the Wisconsin Financiers' Wives Showcase. I can tell he didn't like being there tonight. We didn't laugh together, not once, about those stuck-up bitches and their fake—everything._

_Steven's future's secure. He's got a rich dad who probably won't end up in jail. He's got a job he loves and can't get fired from. My dad screwed up so badly. We're barely holding onto the house. I've gotta keep networking with these bitches who all seem to think being single is a crime._

_Ugh. I sound like Donna. I wouldn't even care about this stuff if I knew Steven still felt for me what I feel for him. But I don't know how he feels about anything anymore._

_I don't even wanna write this... but I think Steven's falling out of love with me._

The page was blotted with tear spots. The ink of the next paragraph was smeared, but Hyde could make it out:

_I just took off the pendant Steven gave me. I can't wear it anymore. I feel like I'm in a damn nightmare. I just wanna wake up... God, why can't we go back to June 22nd?_

Hyde yanked off his shades and tossed them on Jackie's nightstand. He had no clue what gave her that fucking idea, that he'd quit bein' in love. It's not like he'd dumped her or nailed another chick. The shit she came up with...

December 24th, 1978:

_Toys, Steven? Really? You broke a promise to me for some Goddamn toys? You're such a stupid asshole! I want a_ _life _ _with you._

_But you were right about something: Six months ago, I would've been there with you and those toys. Because six months ago, I knew you loved me. Life with you used to feel like a summer's day—even in the dead of winter. But now it's like I'm on this log in the water, and I have run to keep from falling off and drowning._

_You shouldn't have promised, Steven. If you didn't respect me enough to go to the party, you should've respected me enough to say no from the beginning. You used to._

_The thing that hurts the most, though—besides the broken promise—is that you didn't even offer me a way out. You really believe I wanted to be with the LOPPs on Christmas Eve? Why didn't you invite me to play, Steven? Yeah, I would've argued, but if you'd just said, "Jackie, I love you and I'm worried about you and I think you need to relax, so let me help you do that..."_

Hyde couldn't make out the rest of the sentence. The ink was smeared to the point of illegibility.

December 26th, 1978:

_I don't think Steven even cares that we're fighting._

Hyde scowled. Their fight had scared the shit out of him... not that he was gonna let her—or anyone—know that back then.

December 29th, 1978:

_I'm going to the big Wedding Expo with Fez tomorrow. I'm so excited! But I haven't told Steven about it. He doesn't deserve to know. What I say doesn't seem to have an effect on him anymore. I gave him a little dig yesterday, to see if it would stir up at least_ _ something _ _in him—_ _because anger would be better than the apathy he's been showing me._

_Okay, that's not completely fair. He did ask me if I was still mad at him about the LOPP party. Which means he must care, right? I just don't get him... or what he wants._

December 30th, 1978:

_Steven knows I'm keeping something from him, but_ _ he's _ _been keeping his_ _**heart** _ _from_ _me. We're in so much trouble. I don't... God, I don't want anyone else. I want_ _**my** _ _Steven, my Puddin' Pop back._

_This isn't like when Michael and I were having problems. Steven was always there in the back of my mind—and in my heart. Somehow I knew that if Michael and I ended, I'd be okay. But without Steven... I'm gonna be alone forever._

December 31st, 1978:

_I begged him... I BEGGED HIM I BEGGED HIM_ _**I BEGGED HIM!** _

_We're over. I hate him so much hate him_ _**hate him...** _ _God, why is he doing this to me? I miss you, baby. I miss you so much. Where are you?_ _**WHERE ARE YOU, STEVEN?** _ _Who the hell took you from me?_

_God, it's like he's dead. I wanna go, too... Let me go. Get me out of here. Please, someone. Steven, get me out of here..._

The writing shrank until it was a only a jagged line. Hyde's throat constricted painfully along with it, and his pulse had tightened. He wanted to reach into that day and pull Jackie out, hold her, show her it was okay—that he was here, _hers_. Where the hell _had_ he gone? He thought she was the one who'd left, but... _fuck._ Apparently, he'd left, too.

January 17th, 1979:

_Today was a really hard day. Over the last few weeks, Steven's acted like he doesn't miss me at all, and I've been working hard to be the same way. But I just can't. At the Packers game, I lost control. I tried to wake him up, to get him to remember his passionate love for me—and I think I might have done something._

_He saw me crying against a pillar. He didn't come over and comfort me himself, but he did send Donna. Yeah, that's right, Steven. I know. She told me._

Hyde chuckled. That was his girl.

_After Mr. Forman dropped us back at his house, Steven basically told me he misses me. I'm crying right now. He even offered to drive me home, but I said no. I can't let him in just to have him leave me again. He's gonna have to give me more... if he has anything more to give._

January 24th, 1979:

_My dad asked me to visit him. What am I going to say to him, "Thanks for ruining our family"? Right._

January 27th, 1979:

_I keep having these horrible dreams. Steven proposes to me—in the basement, on the Water Tower, in The Hub, and I don't even care that's it's not on a hilltop bathed in golden sunlight because he's mine again. Then the alarm goes off, and I'm in my bed... alone._

_Am I ever gonna stop missing him?_

February 3rd, 1979:  
 _  
_ _ _I'll have to get to Steven's point again. I felt so peaceful there.__

Hyde re-read the entry twice, but he had no idea what she meant.

February 12th, 1979:

_Today was such a great day. Finally._ _It was the first time Steven had spoken to me in almost three weeks. And he had_ _that _ _voice, the soft one. He came by the public access TV studio, and I assumed it was about my show, but what if it was about us? What if..._

_No. I can't do this._

_"I'm gonna do great on my own." That's what I told him. And I almost believe it. I've never, never felt like I could do anything by myself. My dad always paid for everything, Michael was always there, and then Steven... But the show today was all me. Well, Michael and Donna helped, but it was me.  
_ _  
__Maybe those scholarships will come through. Maybe I'll be able to go to college, focus on my career, and then I'll meet a man who'll know how to love me..._

_Who will want to._

February 18th, 1979:

_STEVEN AND I ARE BACK TOGETHER!_

_Oh, my God, I can't believe it. We made love on the basement couch. I think Fez watched, but whatever. He's the one who kinda made it happen._

_Fez had us talk about the things that brought me and Steven together, and Steven and I gave him all this bullshit—it was so funny! We used to pull this trick on our friends all the time. The moment I started the game, Steven knew exactly what I was up to._

_I think I said, "I like the way his scruffy beard felt on my soft, creamy, porcelain skin," which was a total lie since it felt like making out with a bathmat._

_Then Steven said, "I also kinda liked the fact that she was technically still with Kelso." Another lie because he knew I'd broken up with Michael in a letter— before we'd ever kissed that summer._

_Steven and I completely reconnected as we fed Fez line-after-line. We were playing, like we used to, like we did before everything got so messed up. It felt so natural, and we read each other's signals perfectly. We were back together before we even touched each other._

_He hasn't told me he loves me yet, but the way he kissed me— I know he does. I haven't told him either, though. I want him to go first this time._

_We have to,_ _have to __make sure we don't lose each other again. The first time was horrible. The second almost killed me. I don't think I could take a third..._

April 2nd, 1979:

_Dad keeps asking me to visit. And stupid Aunt Elizabeth keeps bugging me to go, too, but I can't. Not alone. Mom says she "has no interest" in him anymore. That could mean a lot of things._

_I'd ask Steven to go with me, but I couldn't take him saying no. Not knowing whether he'd go with me is better than definitely knowing he wouldn't. This way, I can..._

The word "imagine" was crossed out.

_...have hope he might've said yes._

Hyde tore the page from the diary and crumpled it. If he was so damn bad, why the hell had she stuck with him?

April 11th, 1979:

_Well, that's it. None of the scholarships I applied for came through. Guess I'm not going to college. You know, I asked Steven to hold me today. Just to hold me. I didn't tell him why, and he didn't ask. But he lay down on my bed and kept his arms around me for a long time. This was almost my Steven._

_If only he'd asked._

Hyde scanned the next few months—and the entries gave him a sense of déjà vu, a feeling he'd become very familiar with. He and Jackie were good together for a while, partners in crime. Then she got all insecure again and started to push him into those "high society" events, though she kept her trap shut about marriage. And then... _  
_ _  
_June 6th, 1979:

_I played it off. All of them, Eric, Fez, Michael, Donna, and Steven couldn't bother to show up to the dinner party I threw in celebration of my graduation. You know why? Because they were too busy drinking beer in the basement. I almost have no words for how this makes me feel. Steven should have been there. But at least he respected me enough to tell me no this time instead of breaking a promise. I just feel..._

_Hollow._

Hyde frowned. She was right. He should've sucked it up. It was her freakin' graduation party. She would've looked hot as hell in the dress she'd bought. Probably bought some special underwear for him, too—maybe that frilly lingerie he found in her dresser. Why the hell hadn't he wanted to go? It was fucked up, man. She deserved better than that. He owed her better.

He ran a hand over his face and kept silent. He'd thought it was gonna be another boring, stuffy dinner. Just more of Jackie trying to force the future on him. But she'd just wanted him to celebrate with her... Back then he couldn't tell the difference.

"Damn it," he whispered. His mind and heart were like anvils pressing him down. He wanted to take a nap right on Jackie's bed, sleep everything away, but he had to finish this. Only a three months left to go. He picked the diary back up.

July and August were a strange combination, filled with joy about her public access show and confusion about their relationship.

July 19th, 1979:

_We still haven't said "I love you". Why doesn't he tell me? It's been so long. So damn long._ _We've been having fun together. We seem to be mostly our old selves, but something's missing. I just don't understand what it is._

August 27th, 1979:

_I'm trying to understand. Steven and I just had a huge discussion about the future, basically him telling me that he doesn't want to hear that word again. And I told him, "I can do that, but I need to know you love me. Do you love me, Steven?"_

_And he said, "Would I be with you if I didn't?"_

_He always does that now, answers questions with questions. But I've decided to trust he meant yes._

Hyde sat up as a trippy thought slid into his brain. He'd told Jackie he didn't want to hear about the future or talk about it or think about it. And here he was, stuck in the same day with _no_ future. The irony was far out.

September 4th, 1979:

_I don't know what God wants for me. Why would He let me have Steven again only to take him away? But the phone call I just got—maybe God's trying to offer me a way out._

_This is it. I'm either gonna have a life with Steven or without him. It's like I've hit a fork in the road, only the road's my future, my life.  
_ _  
He's not gonna like what I have to say. My dream come true would be a life with him, with_ _ my _ _Steven, the one I fell in love with. He's still in there. If he asks me to stay, if he says he wants to marry me—not today, not today—but_ _**someday,** _ _I'll reapply to college and take those loans. Knowing Steven wants to be in my future... that would be everything._

_Oh, God. I gave him until noon on Sunday. That's three days from now. But he should've known. The moment I put my heart on the line, told him I was his forever if he wanted me—or that he'd lose me forever— **he should have known!**_

_"I don't know..." "I DON'T KNOW"?_

_I have to get out of here. I don't wanna hear the word that's gonna break my heart into powder. I have a real chance in Chicago, a way out of the hell Point Place has become. Donna's about the only thing left keeping me here, and she'd leave me in a second. I HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!_

Hyde clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to rip out that page, too. He really hadn't known. If _his_ Jackie had given him that choice—a future with her or one without her—he would've told her without freakin' hesitation.

But at least now he knew: He'd started losing her the summer of '78, the second Forman bailed on his wedding to Donna.

Hyde turned to the final entry, September 6th, 1979:

_"Have a good trip."_

_Those are Steven Hyde's last words to me. I gave him his chance, so many chances—after he cheated on me, after he stopped telling me he loved me..._

_The worst thing is, I'm going to be the only one carrying this loss. He'll be fine. He always is._

_I don't want to write this. I don't, but I have to. I have to._

_Good-bye, Steven. Have a good life._

Hyde slammed the diary closed. He wasn't fine. What she'd done to him almost killed him, _had_ killed him...

But he'd killed her, too.

He looked at his watch. 9:42 A.M. _Fuck._ He put on his shades, threw the crumpled April 2nd entry into Jackie's wicker trash basket. Then he chucked the diary into her closet and bolted from the room.

Jackie's voice reached him at the top of the staircase: "Mom? What are you doing here?"

The front door banged shut, and the vibration shook the walls. Hyde stayed on the second floor, crept back down the hall.

"I can't believe you!" Jackie shouted from the living room. "You said you were gonna be gone until Cinco de Mayo!"

"Yes, I know, sweetie," Pam said, "but Juan screwed me in the Lincoln—and then screwed me out of the Lincoln because he stole it. Guess I took too long in the gas station bathroom. But I called Bob, and he brought me home."

"Oh, whatever!" Jackie said, and her footsteps grew loud as she ran for the stairs.

Hyde ducked back into her room. He lay down on the bed, laced his fingers behind his head.

The door creaked open, and Jackie walked in, eyes full of tears. "Steven?"

"Hey, doll," he said softly. "We got a lot to talk about."


	13. Wasted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. _L'âme en fleur_ by Victor-Marie Hugo.

CHAPTER 13  
 **WASTED**

"Why are you in my room?" Jackie said.

Hyde sat up on her bed and patted the sheets beside him. "Come here."

She didn't budge from the doorway. "Steven, I am so sorr—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I forgive you. Hell, I fucking drove you to it. Come here."

"Wh-what?" She took a step toward the bed but looked like she'd bolt any second.

He needed her to stay. He walked over to her and cupped her shoulders. "It's my damn fault, okay? I get it. June 23rd last year, I should've brought you into my room and proposed—with a long-ass engagement. One choice that would've changed fucking everything."

Jackie's eyes glazed over, as if she had no idea what he was talking about. Then her gaze sharpened. "You read my diary."

"Uh... no, I didn't."

She grasped Hyde's wrists and pulled his hands off her. "Right." Her voice was hard, without a hint of weakness, and she went to her closet, grabbed her violet diary from the floor. The opened golden lock dangled from the hasp— _damn it._ He should've shut the thing before chucking the diary back in the closet. "You picked the lock?" she said.

He smiled at her. "Yeah."

"How much did you read?"

"All of it."

"Steven!" She flung the diary at his head, but he ducked. "Why? To find out if I was cheating on you?"

"No, to find out where the hell we screwed up."

She crossed her arms and stared at him. "So ya suddenly have an interest in my thoughts and feelings? Where was this interest during the last year?"

"If I'd known what all that future-shit was really about, I would've asked."

So..." her arms were still crossed, "a future with me has gone from being 'crap' to shit."

"Jackie—" He slid his palm over her cheek, but she jerked away from him.

"I _begged_ you, Steven. Begged you to give me some hope we'd have a fu—have a life together."

He glanced behind him at the bed; her diary had fallen onto it. " Didn't know what that really meant until now."

"Why?" The rims of her eyes were growing wet, and all he wanted to do was hold her. But she'd backed up against her bookshelf.

"It was like a wall—all that stuff. I couldn't..." His voice faltered; he forced himself to keep talking. "I couldn't see past it. The ways you were tryin' to get me back only made me wanna fucking run."

"Excuse me?"

Hyde shut his eyes and sucked in a breath. He was losing her. "Whatever. It doesn't matter, all right? I love you."

"You—what?"

In two large strides, he was directly in front of her. He held the sides of her face and drew her close. "I'm in love with you, Jackie." His lips brushed hers as he spoke. "Okay? That's how I feel."

"Because Michael walked into my hotel room practically naked?"

"N—" His hands slipped to her arms. "Why are you making this so damn hard?"

"Me? _Me?_ " Her palms struck his chest, and she shoved him back with such force he crashed onto her white carpet. "You keep treating my heart like it's a plastic yo-yo. But it's made out of crystal, Steven. It's beautiful, and it's fragile."

"Fair enough." He pushed himself to one knee.

"Why are you kneeling like that?" she said.

"That's how a guy's supposed to propose, right?"

Her tone flattened. "You're proposing."

"Thought that was what you..." He lowered his head. "Crap." Then he stood up and sat on the edge of her bed. "Not getting anywhere with you today, huh?"

"What's the supposed to mean?"

"If I'd been in Forman's basement when you showed up there this morning, you would've been all—" he shifted into his Jackie-voice, "'Oh, my God. Steven, you're proposing!' not—" he flattened his tone to match hers, "'You're proposing.'"

She flinched. "How did you know I went to the basement? Unless..." Her fingers darted out and pinched his arm. "Have you been spying on me?"

"No, damn it!" He pried her fingers off him. "It was an easy guess."

"I don't believe you!" She snatched her diary off the bed. "Michael did this to me, too. After I kissed Todd, he went crazy and stalked me. Is that what you're doing? Am I gonna have to deal with you throwing Michael and his stupid towel in my face for the rest of my life? Because I never, not once, even _mentioned_ the nurse to you after we got back together."

"Jackie—"

"I know why you cheated on me, Steven. You thought you lost me. Well, that's why I was gonna sleep with Michael last night: I thought I lost _you."_

"You should've fucked him," Hyde said, and his body tensed. The words shot out of him before he could shove them down. "It would even things out a little."

"What are you talking about?"

He got off the bed, walked past her—and stopped at the doorway for an easy escape. "In the last nine months, I've screwed more chicks than I can count." It was a confession, and Jackie's mouth opened in a silent gasp. "Actually, I quit doing that about four months ago, but yeah."

"I..." Her voice shrank to a tiny whisper. "I wish I could believe you. It would explain everything."

"Believe it. I fucked them, Jackie. And I enjoyed most of it."

"When—" Her face flushed, and the tears she'd kept from spilling finally fell. "When did you stop loving me?"

"Never."

"Then why did you stop telling me?"

"I don't know."

"Not good enough!" she shouted. She charged forward, tried to slug him in the chin, but he grabbed her fist. "Why did you stop telling me, Steven? What the hell happened to you?"

"I don't know."

She rammed her left fist into his stomach, hard enough to hurt. "You were everything to me!"

"You're still everything to me."

"Oh... God!" She collapsed against him and began to sob.

Hyde held her tightly, let her cry into his chest. The pain in her tears wasn't just from "yesterday," when he'd found her in Chicago, but from the last year. He heard the difference in her voice, felt it in her shaky breaths. For too long, her tears had only made him angry, shut him down. But now they cut into him like a pair of meat shears, ripping him open from stomach to throat.

"I love you," he said, but her sobs were growing harder, driving her pain straight into him. His forehead dropped to her shoulder."I... I'm sorry, okay?"

"No!" She tried to shove herself away, but he caught her around around the waist. "Let me go!"

"I've tried, man." He held her from behind, and they both sank to their knees. The carpet was soft beneath him, but Jackie's body was all edges. "I could stay away for a thousand fucking years, but it wouldn't make a damn difference. I don't have a future anymore, Jackie. But if I ever get to the next day, I want you there with me. And every day after that."

"Let me go," she repeated and struggled against him.

"Why?"

"I can't lose you again, Steven. If I let you in... and you... You're just gonna leave."

He brushed her hair aside with his cheek and pressed a kiss behind her ear. "I won't."

"You will. If you don't know why you left me before, you'll do it again." She was still crying but quit trying pull away. "I know you didn't cheat on me the way Michael used to. You have too good a heart. But it's—I think it's mangled, and you can't give it to me that way."

He held her tighter and shrouded his face with her hair. That freakin' insight of hers. "What am I supposed to do?" he said.

"What do you want, Steven? I mean, what do you __really__ want?"

"You."

"You had me," she said. "All of me. I'm clearly not enough."

He loosened his grip but didn't let her go. She was right.

__Damn it,_ _ _she was right..._

10:47 A.M.

Hyde held Jackie for a long while, soaking in every breath and every second she gave him... until an anguished cry left her. She turned around in his arms, eyes red and raw from too many tears, and said, "Good-bye, Steven."

__Like hell._ _

But he let her go—for today. He was on Green Bay Road a few minutes later in the banged-up Dodge Ramcharger. He drove back to the site of the accident, but the Camino wasn't there. The tire tracks on the shoulder's grass made him think it had been towed away.

So he'd be without both his babies today.

He parked in front of the Formans' driveway just before 11:17 A.M. Donna, Fez, and Kelso were there, sweaty from their game of basketball. The sight gave him some comfort—'cause it had nothing to do with death or pain, just some fun on a Saturday morning.

"Hey," Hyde said as he left the S.U.V.

Donna clutched the basketball to her chest and nodded at the car. "What the hell is that?"

"I'm slummin' it today," he said and strode into the kitchen before anyone could stop him.

His stomach was rumbling, but he wanted something different than a damn sandwich. So he pulled out some ingredients: Spinach, garlic, basil, flour, ham, and the uncooked chicken he'd spotted in the fridge. Everything he needed for Chicken Florentine. It would take more work than making a sandwich, but he actually enjoyed cooking sometimes. He was decent at it, and whenever he'd cooked for Jackie, she got horny as hell.

That last thought made him smirk. His skills were learned out of necessity. Edna's "cooking" had consisted of leftovers from the school cafeteria—rotten chili and other inedible crap—and eating that shit used to make him sick. His uncle Chet was the one who'd taught him how to scramble eggs and make omelets... and steal eggs from the store. Mrs. Forman had given him a few kitchen lessons, Red taught him how to barbecue, and the rest he'd learned on his own.

Hyde arranged the ingredients on the counter just as Donna, Fez, and Kelso entered the kitchen. Fez looked over Hyde's shoulder, but Kelso kept his distance and said, "Jackie and I didn't do anything, okay? She wanted me to tell you that. She cried on the whole ride back here, man. Especially 'cause I told her you were gonna propose.".

"It's cool. Whatever." Hyde took a pot and skillet from their hooks above the stove. "I'm gonna make enough food for all of ya, so stick around."

"Ai..." Fez pointed at Kelso, "seeing you and Jackie together has made Hyde has go crazy!"

"Been there, man. Done that," Hyde said. He filled the pot with water, set it on the stove, and turned on the heat. "I'm just cookin' lunch."

"You're gonna poison me!" Kelso shouted and fled through the sliding glass door.

"Kelso, he's not g—" Donna interrupted herself and gestured to the ingredient-covered counter. "What __is__ going on, Hyde?" She sat at the breakfast table with a chuckle. "How baked are you?"

"Completely straight, man." Hyde covered the pot with a lid to make the water boil faster. "Just came from seeing Jackie."

Donna leaned forward, as if she hadn't heard him correctly. "You did?"

"Yeah." He stared at the pot, wishing water boiled faster. He wanted to plop the spinach in, heat it up, and drain it already.

"Ooh, what happened?" Fez said. "Did you two make beautiful, angry, teary love?"

"Uh... no." Hyde slammed a garlic clove with the flat of Mrs. Forman's chef's knife. Then he peeled off the clove's skin. "Donna," he said, "if Forman were to barge his scrawny ass through that door right now, what would he have to do to get you back?"

"Why would he have to get her back?" Fez said. He opened the jar of basil and sniffed it. "They didn't break up."

Hyde snatched the jar back. "Yeah, but Donna's pissed at him."

"How did you know that?" Donna said.

He shrugged. "Aren't you always pissed at him?"

She laughed a little, which was nice to hear. "He'd have to kiss my ass all day," she began, "tell me I'm right about everything—and __mean__ _it._ And not be such a damn coward."

"Forman's not a coward," Hyde said, "not anymore." He lifted the lid to check on the water; it was getting there. "Going to Africa was a huge freakin' risk, trying to fix the mess he made when he gave you that engagement ring."

"What?" Donna shot up, and the chair scraped the floor behind her. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Proposing to you set off this whole chain of events, man. They not only screwed you and Forman, but me and Jackie."

"And how the fuck did it 'screw' you and Jackie?" she said. Her voice was shaking, and her eyes were trained on him like pistols.

Fez put his hands on his hips. "Yes, Hyde. I would also like to know this... and why Fez wasn't screwed, too. Oh, how I want to be screwed."

"Look," Hyde said, "Forman bailing on the wedding made Jackie totally insecure, and that's when she started to freak out."

"So it's __my__ fault you found Jackie with Kelso?" Donna's fingers had curled into fists.

"If you think about it a certain way... yeah."

"Get bent!" she said and thrust herself through the sliding glass door.

The water, meanwhile had started to boil over. It spilled down the sides of the pot, making the lid rattle and bounce, and sizzled away when it hit the stove's flames.

Hyde lowered the heat and uncovered the pot. The frothy, boiling water calmed down a bit.

"If only you could've done that to Donna, eh?" Fez said and sat down at the table. He patted his stomach. "Oh, well. More food for Fez."

11:52 A.M.

Hyde had finished making lunch and set a plate each for himself and Fez. The smell of the ham and garlic made his stomach growl louder, so he plunked down at the table and dug in. The Chicken Florentine had turned out decently, and there was enough of it to feed a family of six. He'd tinfoil the rest later and stick it in the freezer—so Mrs. Forman wouldn't have to cook on this particular September 8th.

"Fez, man," he said about five minutes into eating, "when you and Jackie went to that Wedding Expo, she tell you anything about how she wanted to be proposed to?"

"Oh, yes. You do not forget a description like the one Jackie gave me." Fez smiled, and his voice grew dreamy. "A morning of horseback riding. A picnic. A recitation of a love poem by Victor Hugo—in French." He speared a chicken chunk with his fork and pointed it at Hyde's chin. "You'd beg her to be your wife on a hilltop bathed in golden sunlight. Then you'd have long, hot, beautiful sex while Fez watches—and she said she wants it from behind."

Hyde slammed his fist into Fez's arm, making him drop the fork. But despite Fez's dirty embellishment, he'd given Hyde all the information he needed.

"Are you going to propose to her?" Fez said and rubbed his arm.

"Not today."

* * *

After lunch, Fez helped Hyde put the leftover Chicken Florentine into the freezer. He was a good friend—a bit of a sicko, but a good friend, man. He'd listened to Jackie when she really needed it—when Hyde couldn't hear her himself—and hadn't taken advantage of her vulnerability... 'least not successfully. He deserved a reward, and Hyde knew exactly what kind.

"Say, Fez," he said, wrapping a serving of chicken in tinfoil, "how'd you like to be nailed by a dozen chicks at once?"

Fez's eyes widened. "Oh, that is the Amedican dream!"

"Well," he clapped Fez's shoulder, "I'm gonna make that dream come true for ya, buddy." Fez was growing visibly excited, and Hyde let go of him. "But we gotta burn rubber. We've got a long trip ahead of us."

12:26 P.M.

"Where are we going?" Fez said.

"New Jersey." Hyde was driving the Dodge Ramcharger toward the interstate. He'd taken a few hundred bucks from the stash he still kept in his room, to help convince those chicks to be as nice to Fez as they'd been to him. "Jersey girls, man... They're as skanky as they come."

"They will come, all right," Fez said and rubbed his hands together. "I will take them all like a stallion." He tilted his head, seemed to be lost in a fantasy. Then he frowned. "What if they break it?"

Hyde chuckled. "Only thing that'll be broken is your dry spell. Oh, and you'll wanna catch a snooze before we get there. You're gonna need your strength."

But they didn't even make it off 104th Avenue. Sirens flashed and blared behind them— _the fuzz._ Hyde cursed and pulled over.

A rare, non-mustached cop stepped up to the S.U.V.'s window. "Out of the car, please."

"Hyde," Fez said, "what did you do?"

"Crap." Hyde lowered his forehead to the steering wheel. That selfish fuck, Chad, must have reported his car stolen.

12:40 P.M.

Hyde and Fez were sitting in a holding cell together at the Point Place Police Department. They'd been arrested for grand theft auto, Hyde additionally for assault. He'd tried to take all the blame so the cops would let Fez go, but Fez—the moron—wouldn't shut up and implicated himself in the crime.

Now, in the dimly lit cell, Fez was muttering, "Where are my whores, you sonuvabitch?"

Hyde sighed. "Sorry, man, I'll get you there some other time." He pushed off his knees and went to the payphone on the wall. The two dimes the warden gave him were burning in his palm. No point in wasting any more time, so he called up the hospital.

Nurse Priscilla picked up but, in seconds, handed the phone off to Mrs. Forman. "Steven?" Mrs. Forman said.

"Yeah. Listen, I've been arrested," he said and told her the deal as quickly as possible: the Hobarts, Chad, the Camino being towed away. To his surprise and relief, Mrs. Forman didn't interrupt him and seemed to take it all in.

"Okay, I'll—I'll call Red and explain," she said.

"Thanks, Mrs. Forman," he said and hung up. Then he sat back down next to Fez.

"Are we going to be freed?" Fez said.

Hyde nodded. "Eventually."

But they hadn't seen a judge yet; bail hadn't been set. And their bail would cost more than Red could ever afford. Grand theft auto was a felony, man. So was assault. Their only real hope was that this day, like the 277 days before it, wouldn't take.

2:10 P.M.

The warden opened the cell door. "You're free to go. Charges have been dropped."

Fez leapt to his feet, but Hyde stood up slowly. The charges were dropped... How the hell had _that_ happened?

Red was waiting for them in the precinct's gray-bricked hallway. "Son," he touched Hyde's arm, "the next time you play hero, don't take the bastard's car."

"Yeah..." Hyde took a manilla envelope from the warden. It contained his cash and belongings. He fastened his watch around his wrist, slid on the eyeball ring. "Red, why were we sprung?"

"I'll explain it on the drive home," Red said, Then he led Hyde and Fez down the hall.

Two cops were walking in the opposite direction, each with a coffee. "Did you hear about the 187 just called in?" one said to the other.

"The Wisconsin Waster?" the other cop said.

"Yup. The Le Motel. We'll get the sick fuck this time."

The cops turned down another hallway, and Fez whispered, "What is a '187'?"

"No idea, man," Hyde said, but he wanted to find out.

2:18 P.M.

Red was driving Hyde and Fez in the Vista Cruiser, and he explained—without prompting—why they'd been freed. Apparently, Mrs. Forman had found Mr. Hobart in the hospital, who corroborated Hyde's story. Then Hobart found Chad.

Red laughed. "You really beat the hell outta him, didn't you, son? Broken nose and jaw? Good for you." He paused for a moment and cleared his throat. "Well, anyway, Hobart 'convinced' him to drop the charges. Guess the threat of being arrested for vehicular homicide must have spooked the bastard."

"Huh." Hyde watched out the 'Cruiser's side window while Red spoke. The shame of not being able to save Mrs. Hobart—or her unborn kid—burned deep inside his chest. An asshole like Chad was gonna get to live while she...

Hyde shut his eyes against the growing anger in his body. The way the cosmos worked—it fucking sucked, man. It just... sucked.

2:33 P.M.

Hyde had no idea what to expect when he and Fez entered the Formans' basement. He'd never been there at this time of day—on September 8th, 1979. Kelso was alone and sitting on the couch. His arms were stretched over the back of it; his knees were spread wide apart—a total scene of relaxation, which ended once Hyde let the door slam behind him.

"Hyde—holy shit!" Kelso jumped up, but Hyde caught his arm before he could run off.

"Kelso, man, I don't care about Chicago." Hyde shoved him back onto the couch. "But if you ever try anything like that again, I'll beat the shit out of you, got it?"

Kelso nodded. "Got it. Cool." Then a smile crept on his face, the same one he'd gotten after sleeping with Laurie the first time, the same one after Angie...

Hyde's stomach dropped to his feet. "Crap. You just nailed Donna, didn't you?"

"Oh, yeah!" Kelso raised his arms in victory. "I did her, like, two hours ago. I can't believe Eric chose Africa over __that__ _!_ She's a wild one."

"What?" Fez shouted. "You cannot have Hyde's girlfriend, so you take Eric's?" The flat of his palm struck the back of Kelso's head. "What is wrong with you? And tell me everything, you sonuvabitch. Every disgusting detail."

Hyde broadened his stance and clutched his belt buckle. "Cheating on your own chicks isn't enough, so now you gotta help other chicks cheat on their boyfriends?"

Kelso shrugged. "I guess so. But this wasn't like me and Jackie. Jackie took some convincing, but Donna—man!"

"Would you freakin' tell us already?" Fez said and sat down next to him. "My rooster has been teased enough today by you people." He glowered at Hyde then tapped Kelso's knee. "Tell us how you did this horrible, incredible thing."

"Okay, so I was hiding out from Hyde in Donna's room," Kelso said, "looking through her panties. Then Donna comes in all crying—and she assaults me! Pushes me right down on the bed. And then..." his eyes widened, "and then she told me to fuck her like a lion. So I did!"

"Ai..." Fez was shaking his head. "Kelso, I don't know whether to be very mad at you—or very jealous."

Hyde ran a hand over his face. Tomorrow would be different, man. No way was Kelso nailing Donna again. No damn way.

"The best part, Fez," Kelso was bouncing on the couch like a little kid, "she let me take her in the a—"

"Kelso," Hyde said, "you ever hear of the Wisconsin Waster?"

Kelso froze in mid-bounce. "How do you know about him?"

"Me and Fez overheard some cops talking. Who is it?"

"He's this—" Kelso swallowed, "bad, __bad__ guy. The force is trying to keep it quiet."

__Not that quiet,__ Hyde thought. "What's a '187'?"

Kelso glanced down at the floor. "Um..."

"Oh, he doesn't know," Fez said.

Kelso's glared up at him. "I... do... _too!_ It's a murder."

"So this Wisconsin Waster guy's a murderer," Hyde said.

"Yeah..." Kelso said, "and worse."

"How could it be worse?" Fez said.

"It's what he does before he kills..." Kelso shut his eyes and visibly shuddered. "Every time a case get called in, I have nightmares for a week."

"This guy's a serial whackjob?" Hyde said.

Kelso shifted his weight on the couch, looked at the ceiling. "Can we talk about something else? Like how I gave Donna some sweet butt-lovin'?"

"Whatever. See ya." Hyde took the back stairs out of the basement, leaving Fez to listen to the rest of Kelos's fucked-up porno alone. Kelso was a selfish moron half the time, but Hyde's rage at him for screwing Donna—and for screwing over Forman—was tempered by the knowledge that Kelso didn't discriminate. Jackie or Donna, Hyde or Forman—it made no difference to the guy. If Kelso could stick his dick in a chick, the knife stuck in his friends' backs was a small price to pay.

"Asshole," Hyde muttered and approached the garage. Kelso should've been the one who was fucking trapped in this day, not him. But that wasn't the deal, and bitching about it wouldn't change shit.

He pulled out his copy of the Vista Cruiser's key. Forman's car was waiting for him in the garage, thanks to Red, and Hyde got into the driver's seat. A new plan had formed in his mind the moment Jackie said "Goodbye" today, but he needed to know if it was viable. And that meant research.

3:34 P.M.

Hyde leaned his hip against the circulation desk at Kenosha's largest library. A wizened old woman returned swiftly with an index card. Her huge glasses took up most of her face, and her hands shook, but she was pretty freakin' spry.

"You'll find Hugo's works in the 19th Century French Author's section," she said and gave him the card. "Seven rows to your left, two rows deep."

"Thanks."

Hyde found the section, the same as written on the index card, without trouble. It was quiet and empty, but getting to the Hugo-specific shelf took more time.

He spotted _Les Misérables_ and _The Hunchback of Notre-Dame_ first, but those were novels. A little more searching, and he found three books of Hugo's poetry. Two of the books were useless. One was only in French and the other only in English. But the third had the French on one page and the English translation on the facing page. _Bingo._ He brought the book to a secluded reading table and began to flip through it.

A half-hour later, he found something decent. _L'âme en fleur._ The poem was sappy as hell, but it reminded him of Jackie—so good enough. He scanned the original French and recognized about three words since they were similar in Spanish. But his Spanish was rusty, and it hadn't been that great to begin with. He'd slept through half the classes in high school and cheated off Fez, who'd written dirty, _dirty_ answers during their tests.

Hyde spent the next twenty minutes memorizing the Hugo poem in English. Then he went back to the circulation desk and checked out the bulletin board. It was tacked up on the wall and covered in colorful fliers. There was a tutor offering private instruction in German, a local garage sale, a list of upcoming readings at the library. He'd hoped to find a French class, but no luck. So he caught the wizened librarian's attention. "Hey, are there any French classes around here?"

"You could try the University of Wisconsin-Parkside," she said. "That's here in Kenosha."

"What about horseback riding lessons?"

She adjusted her huge glasses and thought for a moment. "I believe Mount Hump Park has a stable. That's in Point Place. It's where the local Police Department house their horses, too. They teach English there."

"Yeah... Think I already speak that."

"No, there are two different styles of horseback riding: English and Western."

"Oh." He scratched the back of his neck and stared at nothing in particular. Jackie had learned the snooty version of riding horses... must have been English.

"I can get you a book on it if you'd like," the librarian said.

"No, that's cool. Thanks."

He left the library through its glass double doors, satisfied and tired. He'd learned a lot of shit today, and the day wasn't even close to over. His brain was wiped out, man. Over fifteen hours until "tomorrow". He needed a joint, a couple of beers, and some fucking sleep.

* * *

It was past five o'clock when Hyde returned to the Formans'. He entered the house through the kitchen, hoping to grab a beer or three, but multi-voiced weeping reached him through the swinging door. The sounds coated his ribs with ice, chilled his spine to the point of making him shiver. Something bad had happened.

He pushed on the swinging door hesitantly, and the cries grew louder. Bob was slumped on the living room couch, face in his hands, body heaving with sobs. Mrs. Forman was on his right, rubbing his back and crying herself. Red was on his left, face flushed and eyes wet.

Something __really__ bad had happened, but Hyde kept his trap shut and studied the rest of the landscape.

Kelso was sitting stick-straight in the pea soup chair, eyes wide open like a fish. His mouth barely moved, but an audible, "It's my fault. It's my fault," came out of it. Across the room, and by the staircase, stood Pam alone. She was crying silently and looked lost. Hyde moved his gaze down. Fez was crouched on the floor, huddled protectively over someone...

__Jackie.__ Her muffled, hysterical sobs were escaping from underneath Fez's body.

No one seemed to notice Hyde standing by the door. Part of him wanted to slink back out, drive to the Shooting Star Motel, and sleep until "tomorrow". But he hooked into his Zen, distancing himself from his feelings, and dug out his voice. "What's up?" he said softly. No one reacted. "What happened?" he said louder.

Jackie was the first to respond. She sprang to her feet, knocking Fez backward to the carpet. But she eased into Hyde's arms instead of her usual tackle and cried wordlessly against him.

"Red," Hyde said.

Red cleared his throat. "It's Donna, son. She's—"

"THE WISCONSIN WASTER WASTED HER!" Kelso shouted. "AND IT'S MY FAULT!"

Bob glanced up from his hands. "Red," his voice cracked, "get your gun."

"Bob..." Red said.

Bob stood. "Fine. I'll find the sonuvabitch myself."

Red stood up, too, and grasped Bob's shoulder. "You can't go out there like a Goddamn vigilante. You need to let the cops handle it. "

"You saw her body, Red. You saw what that murderer did to my baby!"

At Bob's raw words, Jackie cried harder. Hyde tightened his grip around her back—for himself as much as for her. He'd noticed Donna's absence from the room and figured this gathering had something to do with her.

"She was at the Le Motel," Kelso said in a monotone. "In a room. On the bed."

Fez pushed himself off the floor. "Stop it, Kelso."

"He cut her— _ _everywhere.__ _"_

"Kelso, stop it!" Fez shouted.

Bob shoved his way past Red to the front door. Pam reached out to him, but he ignored her and left the house.

Mrs. Forman finally spoke, but her voice was barely a whisper. "You can't let Bob do this, Red. Call the police."

"Kitty," Red said, "if that animal had murdered Laurie—"

"Call the Goddamned police, Red!" Mrs. Forman shouted, and he grabbed the phone.

"Get me out of here, Steven," Jackie whimpered and twisted her hands in Hyde's shirt. "Please..."

Hyde backed into the swinging door with Jackie clinging to him. She was shaking and took only the smallest of steps, as if she were afraid to move. So halfway into the kitchen, he picked her up in his arms. She pressed her cheek into his chest, her breaths came out in staccato puffs—she was scared out of her fucking mind.

He carried her to the driveway and put her in the passenger side of the 'Cruiser. Then he got into the driver's seat. He'd take her to the motel, calm her down somehow, wait it out until "tomorrow..."

Jackie curled up into a ball as he drove. The seatbelt he made her wear didn't let her fold up completely, but her head was tucked between her bent knees. When they reached Roosevelt Road, her body unfurled a little. "Get me out of here," she said.

"I am."

"Out of __Wisconsin.__ _"_

"Oh." He got it. It was the __Wisconsin__ Waster who'd... He couldn't bring himself to think it.

6:37 P.M.

They were in Milwaukee an hour later, at W.B.s house. Yeah, it was still Wisconsin, but Hyde couldn't deal with this by himself. Jackie was clinging to his waist again, trembling, and he half-carried, half-pushed her into the living room. W.B., Angie, and Russel were all sitting on the long leather couch. The smell of Ilsa's beef brisket wafted through the air. Hyde hadn't been here in months, and it was nice to be back despite the circumstances.

"Steven!" W.B. said. "Your timing is impeccable. We're just about to have dinner to—"

"Donna's dead!" Jackie shouted.

"What?" Angie said.

"The Wis-Wis-Wisconsin Waster killed her!" Jackie said and began to cry. She nearly collapsed to the floor, but Hyde scooped her up and brought her to the couch.

"Steven," W.B. said, "what happ—"

Hyde interrupted the question with a silent head shake. Jackie was bent over his lap, sobbing into his jeans, hands knotted in the hem of his shirt. He kissed the nape of her neck before resting his cheek on it. "W.B.," he said, "you got anything that could help her?"

"I do!" Angie said and took her purse from the coffee table. She pulled out a bottle of Valium.

"I'll get her something to take it with," W.B. said and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned moments later with a glass of water.

Hyde spilled a few white pills into his palm, but Angie stopped him. "Jackie should start with one," she said. "If that's not enough, have her take another. It'll knock her right out."

He put all but one of the pills back into the bottle. Then he bent over Jackie again and whispered, "You gotta take this, doll. It's gonna make you feel better."

Jackie sat up slowly. Her face glistened with tears, spit, and snot. Her hair was stuck to her chin, and he pulled it away as Angie grabbed a handful of tissues for her. He took the tissues himself and wiped the skin beneath Jackie's nose and around her lips. Afterward, he handed her the Valium and the glass of water.

She shakily took the pill, and he felt his own body relax. Some things were too damn hard to handle without help.

"Twenty minutes, Jackie," Angie said, "and everything should start calming down." She touched Jackie's knee and gave her a warm smile. Hyde appreciated the gesture—and was a little surprised by it. He'd expected her to ignore Jackie's distress and assault him with questions about Donna, but she'd controlled herself... and it impressed him.

He stood up and lifted Jackie into his arms. "I'm gonna take her upstairs," he said. "Can someone grab me another pill and the water?"

"Sure, son," W.B. said. He followed them up to the guest room and put the Valium and glass of water on the nightstand. "Do you want me to have Ilsa bring you some food?"

"Nah," Hyde said and lowered Jackie to the bed. "We'll just raid the fridge later."

W.B. nodded. "I hear ya. Take care of her, Steven." He left and closed the door quietly behind him.

Hyde sat on the bed next to Jackie, took off his shades and pulled off his boots. But she was frozen, unmoving. So he knelt on the floor and started to remove her shoes.

"No!" she said and kicked him off.

"Why not?"

"I just need them on, okay?"

"Okay." He returned to the bed and lay back on the pillows. "Come here," he said, gesturing to himself. She crawled on top of him. Her head settled onto his chest, and he rubbed her back softly as she cried.

Her sobs eventually calmed down—the Valium was kicking in—and she said quietly, "Why would she go to that motel, Steven?"

"She was in pain," he said. And he'd made it worse. Telling Donna it was her fault for Chicago, for him finding Jackie and Kelso there—bad fucking move. The crap she pulled in high school when her parents' marriage went to hell, her fling with Casey Kelso... Her way of dealing with pain was to be self-destructive.

He could relate.

"This morning, when I went to the basement," Jackie said, "I should've asked her about Eric and—and all I could talk about was stupid Chicago and I—I've been so selfish!" Fresh sobs shook her body, and he held her tightly, wanting to give her whatever strength he had.

"No way you could've known what she would do," he said. "Just like she didn't know who was waiting for her today."

Jackie half-whimpered, half-sighed. "How can she be gone?"

He swept her hair from her face, and his lips grazed her temple. "It's gonna be okay, small grasshopper."

"No, it's not," she said. "Nothing's gonna be okay ever again."

"It will."

"How can you say that?"

"A lot can change in a day."

They were silent for a while, and Jackie's breathing overtook his senses, the soft sound of it, the gentle rise and fall of her beneath his arms. How he'd almost let this go... he was a fucking fool.

"I miss her," she said.

"Yeah..." he kissed the top of her head and let his lips linger there, "me, too." But they'd both be seeing Donna "tomorrow"—they'd damn well better be.

"I think I need another pill," Jackie said after a few more silent minutes. She'd begun to tremble again, and he sat up with her.

They lay back down once she took the second Valium. Her body soon relaxed, and he found his mind drifting. "My arm squeezed your fragile waist, supple as a reed," he said absently. "Your heart was beating like the wings of a baby bird."

"That's beautiful," she murmured, half-asleep. "What is it?"

"Just something I read today."

"Oh." She nestled her head beneath his chin. "Steven..."

"Yeah?"

"I feel your heart." Her eyes were closed; her palm was flat on his chest. She must have meant his heartbeat.

12:03 A.M.

Hyde had fallen asleep, but now he was awake. Jackie was patting his chest, saying his name. "Hey," he said groggily.

"Can you take off my shoes?" she said.

"Sure." He sat them both up. Then he crouched on the floor.

Her fingers combed through the back of his hair as he removed her shoes. The gentle touch roused a pained need in him. He wanted to keep holding her, to feel her with as much as his body as possible. "Thank you, Puddin'," she said. She stood up once she was barefoot and gestured for him to do the same. "I have to go to the bathroom."

"You want me to go with you?" he said incredulously, and she nodded. __Huh.__ That was a first.

She clutched his arm as they walked to the bathroom together. He'd experienced her emotionally terrified before, but this terror was visceral, about physical survival. He opened the bathroom door for her, and she said, "I can't go back home. Not until that psycho-monster is caught. Could you—could you drive me to Chicago tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

She shut the bathroom door herself and unbuttoned her jeans. "Will you stay there with me?"

"Wouldn't wanna be anywhere else," he said. He sat on the lip of the bathtub, eyes shut tightly, while she did her business. She flushed, washed her hands, and the sound of the rushing water woke up his own bladder. "I gotta take a leak."

Normally, she would've said, _" _Eww,__ _"_ and flown from the bathroom. But this wasn't a normal day. She took his place on the bathtub, covered her eyes and ears as he took his piss.

After he finished and cleaned himself up, she slid her arms around his waist. "Thank you, Steven."

She stood on her toes and gave him a kiss, a closed-mouth peck. It felt four-fifths right, but the closeness of their bodies deepened his need for her. __Not good.__ She needed something else entirely right now.

"Oh!" She gasped and pulled away from him.

__Fuck.__ She'd felt his damn hard-on through his jeans. "Jackie," he said, "don't worry about it. I don't have to—"

"No, you should eat, Steven," she said and patted his rumbling stomach. He hadn't noticed it—or his hunger—over his arousal. "Just take me with you."

* * *

The bright lights of the kitchen made Hyde wish he still had on his shades, but he'd turned them all on for Jackie. She was too jumpy right now, and the dark wouldn't make things any better. She kept her hands balled in his shirt as he made them a midnight snack: two turkey sandwiches and two glasses of orange juice. He would've preferred beer, but she couldn't drink it with the Valium, and him staying lucid would probably make her feel safer.

Plus, alcohol would bring his hard-on back with a vengeance. He couldn't afford to lose control of himself that way, not tonight.

He sat at the granite counter and devoured his sandwich while Jackie hugged his waist. He tried to get her to eat, even waved her sandwich under her nose, but she refused. Fear had driven her appetite away. "Come on, you gotta have something," he said.

"It's doesn't matter right now," she said, and her shoulders slumped a little. "I'll eat tomorrow."

He arched an eyebrow. She had a point, though she didn't know it. Whatever lack of food did to her body now, it wouldn't carry over to the next day. Whatever care he gave her, she wouldn't remember. But those details didn't make a damn difference. He'd caused her enough pain, did too good a job of acting like she wasn't important to him. It was time for that shit to end.

He picked up her glass of orange juice and held it out to her. "Jackie, I don't want you passing out from starvation, okay? Drink up."

She withdrew one of her arms from him and took the glass. "For you..." She drank a sip, then another. She managed to down most of the juice and take a bite of sandwich before resuming her full hold around his waist.

"Thank you," he said and hopped off the kitchen stool. He cleaned up their plates and glasses, threw out Jackie's uneaten sandwich, all with her clinging to him. When he finished, she squeezed his waist tighter and sighed into his side.

"You came back for me," she said.

"Yeah..." he kissed the ridge of her ear, "I did."

12:23 A.M.

They went back to the guest room, back to their previous position on the bed. She was lying on top of him, but this time they were under the sheets. He'd kept on his shirt and jeans. They were all he could wear since his duffel bag had been in the Camino, which was now sitting in some tow pound. But even with the barrier of their mutual denim, Jackie's warmth absorbed into his body. It had been nine months since they'd lain together like this. For now, the ache he'd been carrying with him was gone, but his guilt about Donna had rushed in to fill the space, reducing his burgeoning erection into nothing.

"I feel like I'm in a nightmare," Jackie said against his chest.

"I know."

Her breath shook as it left her. "I just wanna wake up."

He said nothing but slipped his hands underneath her shirt, just to have contact with her skin. She moaned softly at his touch—not out of pleasure, he knew, but out of relief. For too long, she'd been without him. His palms brushed lightly over the small of her back, across her spine, and up to her shoulders, eliciting more gentle sighing. The sound of it flooded him with emotions he had no way of describing. Too many, too jumbled. But they accumulated in his throat and spilled out his mouth. "I fucking love you," he whispered. "Don't wanna leave you again."

"I know, baby. I know." Jackie maneuvered her hands beneath his shirt and smoothed her fingers over his bare chest. "I'm not saying good-bye to you anymore." She left a warm, open-mouthed kiss just below his jaw—on his neck's most sensitive spot. "I can't."

His breath grew heavy as her hands and lips left his skin. He wanted more, to taste her, to be as close to her as possible... but she rested her cheek back over his heart. It was okay. Her presence with him was enough, more than he fucking deserved. He tried to memorize the feel of her in his arms, to take in as much of her as he could. It would have to last him for a while.

Maybe for all of damn eternity.


	14. The Chained Lady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. _L'âme en fleur_ by Victor-Marie Hugo.

CHAPTER 14  
 **THE CHAINED LADY**

Hyde awoke, still feeling Jackie in his arms. But when he tightened his hold on her, all he hugged was mattress. His fists clutched the thin comforter, and his mouth let out a loud curse. He didn't have to roll onto his side to know the motel's dingy walls would be staring back at him; the ABBA song was playing from the clock radio.

He sat up with a groan and shut it off. Then he hunched over his knees, laced his fingers behind his head. "My life's a living hell..."

His frustration paralyzed him, kept him from moving or thinking—until Bob's broken voice tumbled through his mind like falling rocks: __"__ _Y_ _ _ou saw her body, Red. You saw what that murderer did to my baby!"__

Hyde's body straightened, his arm whipped out, and he grabbed the phone. He dialed the Pinciottis' and a heavy, relieved breath escaped him when Donna picked up.

"Hello?" she said.

"It's Hyde."

"Hyde? Oh, my God! How's Chicago? Are you with Jackie?"

"Uh..." Her voice made him shut his eyes and grip the receiver hard. She was alive, man.

__Fuck,__ she had another chance... and so did he.

"Hyde?" she said. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah, man... Yeah." His first instinct was to apologize for being a dick to her yesterday, for what he helped push her toward, but she didn't remember anything about it. Apologizing would only make her think he was a headcase. "I'm not in Chicago anymore," he said. "Me and Jackie had a... misunderstanding. But everything'll be cool once I get back home."

"Oh, come on. You gotta give me more than that."

He sighed and told her exactly what he found in Chicago, about him showing up just before Jackie and Kelso were gonna screw each other.

"She what?" Donna's anger was palpable from the other end of the phone. "Hyde, how can you say everything will be 'cool'?"

"I..." His brow furrowed though she couldn't see it. Whenever he'd told her about Jackie and Kelso before, she hadn't believed him right away. But now she accepted it straight-off. _Huh._ Maybe he'd told it to her differently those times. Maybe his voice sounded more convincing this morning. Or maybe she was more apt to believe something she heard over the phone.

Whatever. She was clearly pissed today, and she said, "If I'd found Eric with some other girl, I'd wanna rip his balls off." .

"Look," he said and and scratched the back of his neck, "Jackie was scared outta her mind, okay? I drove her to it. She had no way out."

"I don't care. I don't."

"Donna—"

"Why am I the only one who's mad about this?"

"You're pissed about something else, too."

She hesitated, making a strange, pinched sound before answering. "Yeah..."

"It sucks Forman went off to fix his mistakes alone instead of trying to figure it out with you."

"Thank you!" she said. "God, I'm so sick of people telling me 'It's for the best, pumpkin.' Well, I don't think so. Eric does all these things, makes these decisions without me... that __affect__ _me."_

"Yeah, I know." Hyde's muscles tensed up, and he shifted uncomfortably on the bed. He didn't know what else to say about it, especially not on the damn phone. It was hard enough to speak about crap in person, let alone to a disembodied voice. "Listen," he said, "I'm gonna hit the road soon. We can shoot the shit when I get back, all right?"

"When do you think you'll get here?" she said.

"'Bout an hour."

"Okay... Thanks, Hyde."

"Sure." His muscles relaxed a little—then tensed worse than before. "One thing, though," he said. "You gotta promise me you won't go anywhere near Burlington or the Le Motel today. Heard from the cops there's a psycho skulking around there. Name's the Wisconsin Waster."

"The Wisconsin Waster?"

"Yeah, the guy's responsible for a bunch of rape-murders. The fuzz is trying to keep it quiet. Mass hysteria, all that."

"Oh." She was quiet for a moment. "Well, I hope they catch the misogynist bastard."

"Don't go to the motel," he repeated.

"I won't, believe me. Last time I went, I was with Casey. Don't need to relive that—and get killed in the process."

"Good." His muscles relaxed again. That was what he wanted to hear.

8:12 A.M.

The Camino was parked in the motel's parking lot, like every morning the past nine months. And seeing her there made Hyde feel almost the same relief as hearing Donna's voice. He'd been without his baby all day yesterday, and he patted her shiny black hood.

8:22 A.M.

Hyde was brawling with Chad at the Mazda-S.U.V. accident. The fucker fought the same way each time, which gave Hyde the advantage. He didn't want to break Chad's jaw this time—and leave too much evidence for an assault charge—so he relied on body blows more than usual. Punches to the stomach and kidney stunned Chad enough for Hyde to knock him to the ground. From there, Hyde was able to put him to bed.

The fight had lasted six minutes. Chad would have a black eye and a headache when he regained consciousness, but Hyde's face didn't have a scratch. His left shoulder had taken the brunt of a blow meant for his chin. Definitely was gonna bruise-up, but whatever. Hyde was standing; that fucker wasn't.

He didn't wanna risk losing the Camino today. So instead of driving the S.U.V. to Pine Avenue, he drove it past the trees on the highway shoulder and parked it there. That cleared up the worst part of the bottleneck, leaving only Mr. Hobart's small Mazda—with his dying wife and unborn kid inside.

8:40 A.M.

Hyde drove the Camino to Pine Avenue and called the ambulance. As always, he waited the six minutes. Yeah, the outcome was the same each time, but he needed to see the ambulance show up, to be sure the Hobarts would get to the hospital.

8:48 A.M.

__"What do you want, Steven? I mean, what do you__ really _ _want?"__

In the Camino, a few minutes from the Formans', Jackie's words from yesterday cut through his mind. It was his own question, the one he'd told her to ask the day he'd gone nuts. He needed to answer it. Because Jackie was right, man. She wasn't enough.

And she was right about something else: Even if he made it tomorrow, he'd still be living the days the same damn way—whether Sunday or Monday or whatever—unless he figured out what he wanted out of his fucking life.

8:51 AM.

Donna smiled brightly the moment Hyde stepped into the basement, and his own lips responded in kind. Hearing her voice was one thing; seeing her face, another.

"Hey," she said. "You look happy."

"Oh, I'm swell," he said with mock-enthusiasm. His Zen was barely established yet, and he didn't want her to spot the holes in his defenses. "What's not to be happy about?" He sat on the couch beside her and patted her knee. __Yup. Solid.__

Donna pointed an accusing finger at him. "Okay, what the hell is really going on? First you're 'cool' with Jackie almost cheating on you, and now you're all smiley? How much did you smoke this morning?"

__Crap.__ He hadn't realized he was still smiling and forced his lips into a tight frown. "You wanna know what's really goin' on? Fine." He told her the story of waking up 279 times on September 8th, 1979. "I've had nine months to get over Chicago, man. Nine damn months."

"Okay, Hyde. Okay." She was giggling like he'd just tickled her. "I'll stop asking."

"It's all true." He checked his watch. It was 8:55 A.M. "I'll prove it. You see that commercial for the Lego 'Space Set'?" He nodded at the TV. "Well, I've seen it before."

"So? They play that, like, all the time."

"Yeah, but I've seen it on September 8th, 1979 at eight-freakin'-fifty-five in the morning." He got off the couch, took the notepad and pen from the shelves under the stairs. Then he returned to his seat next to her. He could've sat in his chair, but he needed that physical closeness to her right now. "I've been here with you a couple of times, and I pretty much know exactly what's gonna happen."

He tapped his teeth with the pen, tried to remember the name of the Bugs Bunny cartoon. He got it and wrote down:

9:00 A.M. _The Bugs Bunny/Road Runner Show. __False Hare._ Uncle Big Bad. _  
_9:06 A.M. Barbie ad. Girly-ass motorhome. _  
_9:06 A.M. _E_ lectronic basketball game ad.  
9:07 A.M. Toys R Us ad. _  
_9:08 A.M. Sugar Crisp cereal ad. _  
_9:09 A.M. _Zipping Along._ Wile E. Coyote is a moron. Grenade. Kite. Canyon. TNT. _  
_9:14 A.M. Jackie. Navy blue top, white anchors. _  
_

Hyde flipped the page, and Donna peered over at the pad. "What are you writing?" she said.

"Hold your freakin' horses, woman!"

He turned his back on her. On the second page, he wrote: _"Nothing happened, okay? Nothing. I am so sorry about what happened in Chicago. I was alone, and I thought I'd lost you."_

He faced Donna and ripped off the top page. "This one you can read now," he said and handed it to her. As she started to read, he ripped off the second page and folded it up. "Stick this one in your pocket. You'll know when to look at it."

She stuffed the folded-up paper into her jeans pocket and eyed him suspiciously. "I'm not gullible like Kelso, you know—"

"I know."

"—so don't think you'll burn me with this." She waved the first sheet of paper at him.

"It's not a burn." He tossed the pad and pen onto the spool table. Then he checked his watch again. "Two minutes."

At 9:00 A.M. the __Looney Tunes__ theme music played from the TV's speaker. The screen soon showed the cartoon's title in large red letters: __False Hare.__

"Lucky guess," Donna said and glanced down at the paper.

Hyde smirked.

Once the cartoon finished, the saccharine-voiced commercial for the Barbie "Star Traveler" motorhome came on. Donna was now staring at him but didn't concede. "Coincidence."

"Uh-huh..." He leaned back and propped his feet up on the table. Donna's mouth opened slightly at the electronic basketball game ad—and opened wider at the Toys R Us ad that followed. "Told ya," he said.

"Whatever," she said. But when the ad for Sugar Crisp cereal played next, she slammed her fist into Hyde's left shoulder, sending pain through his arm and up his neck.

"Fuck!" He cupped his shoulder protectively and tried to distance himself from the pain. His nerve endings were burning. She'd frogged him directly on the bruise Chad gave him.

"Oh, God! Hyde, I'm sorry!" She curled and uncurled her fists and studied them. "I must be jacked up from being mad at Eric."

"Wasn't you," he said and dragged up his sleeve. His shoulder was already violet from Chad's punch.

Donna touched his skin gently, but even that gentle touch stung. "Kelso?"

"Nope." He pushed his sleeve back down.

"Your m—" She interrupted herself and looked a little spooked. But he had no idea why or what she'd originally wanted to say. "So who was it?"

"Got into a little fight," he said. "Other guy's worse." He gestured to the TV. "Did I tell ya, or did I tell ya?"

Wile E. Coyote was at it again with the kite strapped to his back and a bomb in his hands. He crashed off a cliff and got blown up by his bomb.

"Now __that's__ a burn," Hyde said and chuckled.

Donna crossed her arms. "I'm not buying it. The __TV Guide__ must have told you or something."

"Even the commercials?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she kept glancing at her watch as Wile E. Coyote failed repeatedly to destroy the Road Runner.

Right on time, at 9:14 A.M., the basement door banged open. A barely audible "No," escaped Donna's throat as she angled her head toward the door.

"Steven?" Jackie's worried voice pierced his chest, but he couldn't answer her. Not yet. He needed events to unfold as they normally did. "Ste—Oh, my God..." She rushed to the couch, hugged him around the neck, and thrust herself onto his lap.

"Navy blue top, white anchors," Donna whispered.

"Nothing happened, okay?" Jackie was crying into his cheek. Her tears cracked open his ribs, soaked his heart, but he still couldn't answer her. "Nothing."

Donna pulled the folded-up paper from her pocket.

"I am so sorry about what happened in Chicago," Jackie said and hugged Hyde even tighter. Donna mouthed Jackie's next words along with her: "I was alone, and I thought I'd lost you."

"No way... No freakin' way!" Donna shouted, and Jackie twisted around in Hyde's lap. Donna was pointing at her and Hyde both. "You set this up, didn't you? Jackie, spill it."

"Shut up, Donna!" Jackie shouted back. "I need to talk to Steven." She faced him. "Baby—"

Finally, Hyde could do what he'd been waiting to. His hands slid up her back to her hair. It had only been a few hours since he'd held her, but it felt too long. "Jackie—" Pain bit into his shoulder, made his left hand retreat down to her waist. "Chicago's just a memory."

"What do you mean?" she said. Her eyes were searching his face, and he cursed inwardly. He should've kept his shades off. "Steven, what are you talking about? You just—"

"I love you." The words left his mouth easily. She couldn't hurt him anymore with them, and holding them back would only hurt her.

But she wasn't smiling. "If this a joke, Steven..." fresh tears welled in her eyes, and her fingers gripped the hair at the nape of his neck, "a cruel, __cruel__ joke, I'll—"

He stood up with her, needed some room to maneuver. Her hands dropped limply to his hips but didn't let go of him, and he used her pliability to bring their bodies flush together. He began to lay thick kisses along her jawline, and her hold on him grew tighter again, but he couldn't prolong this. Donna was his priority today, and he had to keep her from fleeing the basement.

He reached Jackie's lips and kissed them tenderly, dipping his tongue in just for a taste, before withdrawing his mouth completely. Kissing her still didn't fully feel right, but his concern about it was drowned by a stronger emotion.

He took off his shades, hooked them on his shirt. Then he locked his hands on the sides of her face and gazed deeply into her eyes. She was too damn beautiful, even as shocked as she looked right now, and the sight of her almost screwed him over.

"Jackie, I..." The pounding in his chest threatened to make him non-verbal, but he forced his emotion into words. "I'm more fucking in love you now than I was yesterday," he said. "And we're gonna get hitched, but not today."

A smile finally surfaced on her face. It looked as if she was trying to smooth it out, but she failed. "Wh-why?" she said. Her body was shaking. "Why are you telling me this now, after—?"

He glanced over at Donna, who was sitting in Fez's chair, examining the paper he'd given her. "I've had a lot of time to think," he said.

"Okay..." Jackie sounded unsure, and her trembling had grown worse.

He enfolded her deeply in his arms, hoping this would calm her down, and whispered by her cheek, "Donna's goin' through a rough time... I gotta give her today, but you'll get tomorrow. I promise, small grasshopper, you'll get it."

"S-sure, Puddin'." She placed a few soft kisses on the ridge of his ear before slipping from his arms. But she grabbed his hand and gave it squeeze as she turned toward Fez's chair. "Donna," she said, "I hope you feel better." Then, without any fanfare or demands, she let him go and left the basement. .

Hyde stared at the basement door a moment after it closed. The skin of his ear was tingling where Jackie's lips had made contact. Those kisses she gave him almost felt like a thank-you—or an acknowledgment of how he'd treated her last night. It made him curious. Did his behavior each September 8th have some lasting effect on the people around him? No way she would've left so easily on day 1. He'd bet his left 'nad on it.

And what she'd said to Donna on her way out: __"I hope you feel better..."__ It was as if some unconscious part of her remembered yesterday—'cause Donna sure as hell hadn't mentioned Forman to her, not today. Hyde nodded thoughtfully. _Huh._ Maybe he'd finally discovered something useful.

"Wow, Hyde." Donna was watching him with wide eyes. "You're so different... You've changed," her fists pumped in the air for emphasis, "matured." Then she stood up with the paper, stepped toward him. "Maybe you're telling the truth. Maybe you __have__ spent the last nine months in the same day. Or maybe—" she slammed the paper into his chest, pushing him into the couch, "you're full of shit."

"Maybe I'm both." He grabbed her hand firmly because he still needed to feel her solidity, just to make absolutely sure she was alive. "Come on," he said and pulled her toward the basement door, "I'll give ya a chance to find out."

10:08 A.M.

After a quick stop to the bank—where Hyde withdrew a thousand bucks—he and Donna picked up some snacks from the Piggly Wiggly. They were eating in the Camino, and Donna seemed more amused than annoyed. More importantly, she seemed willing to hang out with him today. He told her about some of the things he'd done during the nine months, including his search for Chrissy and how junked-up she was.

"That's awful," Donna said sincerely. Then she flinched. "Damn it! I don't believe I'm believing you." Her hands clutched her knees, and she gazed down at them. "I'm not. I refuse to believe this, Hyde. Your story is ridiculous. Your behavior toward Jackie isn't you—unless you're trying to burn the hell out of her. Which," she moved her gaze back to him, "you should _totally_ be doing because she deserves it."

Hyde's stomach tightened. His impulse was to shove Donna's anger back at her, tell her it was Forman she was really pissed at 'cause Jackie had been burned enough. But he crumpled up the bag of potato chips he'd been eating from and tossed it out the Camino's window. "You ready to go?" he said.

"Where are we going?"

"Mt. Hump Stables."

"For what?" Donna started to laugh. "Are you planning on letting the horses loose—so they can trample the humpers in the park? Who are, you Kelso?"

"I'm gonna ride one," he said and started up the Camino's engine. He pulled out of the Piggly Wiggly's parking lot.

She smiled at him. "You're gonna ride a humper? Now you sound like Fez."

"A horse, man. A horse. Whatever. You wanna take a lesson with me? I'll pay." His neck felt hot; he was a little embarrassed asking... Donna had taken two years of lessons when she was a kid.

Her laughter grew stronger. "You on a horse? Oh, this I have to see."

10:30 A.M.

The arena inside of Mt. Hump Stables smelled like dirt and hay, and Hyde and Donna were standing by the mounting block. He felt like an idiot already. The stables required all riders to wear round, black helmets that resembled bowling balls. He must've looked like a freakin' botard in it, but the sight was cracking Donna up, so it was worth it—despite his urge to rip the helmet off and chuck it at her.

Their instructor was a thirty-something chick named Debbie. She and a stable girl, who couldn't be more than twelve, brought out two horses for them. Donna was able to mount her horse, "Paint," without help. The two years of lessons she'd had were kicking in, apparently.

Hyde, however, needed Debbie's verbal and physical support to get on his horse. Even without a bruised shoulder, getting on would've been tough. The horse, "Caraway," was a bitch. It wouldn't stand completely still as he stuck his boot into the stirrup. Kept lifting up a leg and stomping it down. But he was eventually able to pull himself onto Caraway's saddle and get both feet into the stirrups.

As the lesson began, Donna had no problem directing Paint where to go. It was a brown horse with a white streak down the front of its muzzle, and it calmly walked where she directed it with the reins—hell, Paint acted like it had smoked some of Hyde's stash.

Hyde's horse, though, kept walking straight when he pulled the reins to go left. It kept putting its ears back and tried to bite the other horses in the arena. The sounds it made annoyed him—the nickers, the snorting. Trying to keep the thing from running off with him made his shoulder hurt, and he felt totally out of control. After fifteen minutes he yanked the reins tightly to get Caraway to stop, and the fucking horse almost threw him off. It reminded him of that crazy brown-eyed chick in Rhinelander. She'd bucked him, too.

"Yeah, I'm done," he said to Debbie and gripped the saddle's pommel with both hands.

"But you paid for an hour," she said.

He scowled at her. "Do I look like I give a shit?"

She grabbed the reins from him and led Caraway back to the mounting block. He dismounted ungracefully as Donna rode Paint nearby.

"Don't be a quitter, Hyde," Donna said. She patted Paint's thick, muscled neck. "I'm really enjoying this."

"So enjoy it. I'll wait for you outside."

He headed for the reception area, and Debbie called after him, "Chickens have no business riding horses!"

It was a good burn. Even so, he clenched his fists to keep from giving her the finger.

10: 52 A.M.

Horseback riding was out, and Hyde was pissed. Maybe if he'd gotten the baked horse that Donna was riding, things would've turned out differently. Whatever. He hated horses to begin with—nice to know that hatred was justified.

He was standing by the payphone in the reception area, and he dialed up the Point Place Police Department. Not his favorite thing to do—unless he was pulling a burn on Kelso—but it was necessary. He took a deep, calming breath as the phone rang. A deep-voiced cop answered after two rings.

"Yeah, uh... the Wisconsin Waster's gonna be at the Le Motel in Burlington, _today,_ " Hyde said. "Could be there now. Definitely will be there around one or one-thirty this afternoon."

"How the hell do you know that?" the cop said.

"You really wanna take the chance I'm lying and let another chick get knifed?" Hyde pulled the receiver from his ear and hung up. The call would have to be enough.

11:34 A.M.

"I need a shower," Donna said. She was standing outside the stables with Hyde and sniffing her shirt.

"You don't smell that bad," he said, a flat-out lie. He couldn't risk bringing her back home to Kelso and Fez. Her nailing either one of 'em today wasn't an option. "Anyway, chick at the reception desk told me of a place down the road, called the Prairie Café. They give a discount to customers who stink."

Donna shoved him forward on the dirt path, "You're so full of horseshit," but quickened her pace to walk beside him. "You should have stuck it out on Caraway."

He peered up at the sky and sighed. It was bright and blue. The few wispy clouds looked like smoke curling off a joint.

"Come on," she said and gave his right shoulder a nudge. "It's fun! Like driving a car."

"That was nothing like driving a car."

"So why did you want to try it?"

He didn't answer. The trees surrounding the path were full and green. Their leaves weren't turning yet. Nine months of the same season, man. It was boring... and a little strange.

Not that he liked Wisconsin winters. But fall was cool. He and Jackie used to jump into the piles of leaves Forman raked up in the yard. Sometimes Hyde would toss her into one and dive in afterward, snuggling into her as she giggled and brushed her gloved fingers through his hair.

The air was chilled and biting in those days, but his body sheltered her from it—so if her cheeks flushed, it wasn't from the cold. And when he kissed her in those mountains of leaves, the smell of wet earth would fill his nostrils, and the warm taste of her filled his mouth.

But before Red could stomp to the yard and discover the mess they'd made of Forman's work, Hyde always pulled Jackie to the safety of the basement. The only evidence of their crime was their laughter... and the bits of nature stuck in their hair and clothes. But Jackie made short work of the latter by picking out the twigs and leaves from both of them.

Outside of the circle, Hyde never laughed as hard as he did with her. Sometimes he couldn't stop, and it felt like his stomach and throat would explode. But she got turned by his laughter, so extra-added bonus. Another bonus: Forman usually got blamed for the messed-up yard by Red.

Those were good days.

"Hyde?" Donna was tapping him. "Why'd you want to go horseback riding?"

He shut his eyes and reopened them. The leaves were green again. "For Jackie," he said.

"Still not buying it. You ever gonna tell me the truth?"

"Sure." He smirked. Donna's curiosity was as strong as her fists. "But you gotta stick with me today."

"I plan on it," she said with a nod, "because I can't wait to see what else you're going to do. I never knew sober-Hyde could be so fascinating."

"Yeah, yeah. Save your sarcasm."

"I'm being completely serious." She kicked a pebble in the road, and it flew out to the trees. "I've known you, like, my whole life. And this is the strangest you've ever acted."

He kicked a bigger stone, jagged and the size of a plum, but it skidded along the dirt. "No, it's not. I've been weirder." Reading Jackie's diary had taught him that, and Donna hadn't seen him the day he cut his wrist open. "Sometimes I surprise myself."

11:42 A.M.

The Prairie Café was as tacky a restaurant as they made 'em. Framed photos of horses hung on the wall along with some cowboy hats and a curled-up lasso. The top of the booth seats were curved like saddles, country music filtered in through the sound system—a Charlie Daniels song, and Hyde found it pathetic he knew that.

Donna was sitting across from him, and they were both flipping through the café's too-long menu. The food had names like "Wild West" chicken wings and "Buffalo" bacon.

"'Stallion' sausage?" she said. "We've _so_ got to bring Fez here."

A few minutes later, Hyde decided on the "Buckin' Bronco" burger, but Donna was frowning.

"This thing is freakin' huge!" she said and shut the menu. "The words are beginning to look like gibberish to me."

"Just have a burger."

She grunted and resumed her search through the menu. But when the waitress came to their table, Donna let him order first then said, "Make that two."

A Willie Nelson song began to play from the café's speakers, and Donna's finger traced a squiggle on the table. A map of Wisconsin, marked with various horse trails, sat beneath the clear surface. "What do you know about that psycho?" she said quietly.

"You mean Kooky Karl?" Hyde said, knowing full-well who she really meant. "Think he was in Viet Nam. Maybe the new Asian checkout girl at the Piggly Wiggly scared him off. "

"No, the Waster. What does he do to the women he kills?" She was looking directly at him now and rubbing her wrist. "And don't say 'I don't know' because I can see it on your face. Those cops gossiped about it like Jackie, didn't they? "

"You really wanna lose your appetite?"

"I'm a big girl, Hyde."

He scratched his cheek and glanced away. It wasn't something he wanted to talk about, but he lowered his voice and said, "The whackadoo likes to carve the chicks up, okay? Like a freakin' turkey."

Donna suddenly went pale and froze.

"Donna?" He touched the top of her hand, but she yanked it away. "Hey, you all right?"

"What?" She blinked then stared at her her palms. Her gaze traveled up each arm, and finally the color returned to her face. "Oh. I was just imagining..." She took a deep breath. "Do you think the cops'll get the bastard today?"

"Hope so."

"Yeah..." She nodded slightly. "Yeah."

12:38 P.M.

After lunch, they walked the half-mile back to the stables where the Camino was parked. But before Hyde even put the car into first gear, Donna was rifling through his duffel bag.

"What the hell are you doin'?" he said and tried to drag the bag off her knees. But he gave up fast and put his hand back on the steering wheel. He'd already died twice while driving. That was enough.

"I need a fresh shirt." She yanked out his yellow Rolling Stones shirt and sniffed it. Her nose wrinkled. "What did you do, have a sleepover with Kooky car?" She pulled out his red Allman Brothers Band shirt and stuffed the Stones one deep into the bag.

"I went on a bender last night... _nine months ago._ "

She threw back her head and laughed. "God, Hyde! You're still on that?"

"Yup."

"Well, you're persistent; I'll give you that."

She turned her back to him and began to take off her shirt. Definitely not something she'd normally do. He kept from looking at her side-mirror, from catching a glimpse of her breasts. Body-privacy was usually important to her, much to Kelso and Fez's frustration. But today was different, man. Today she didn't give a shit, and he knew why.

Once his shirt was on her, she said, "So where are you taking me now?"

"The University of Wisconsin-Parkside."

She crossed her arms. "I'm not enrolling, so don't bother."

"Who asked you to? We're going for me."

"You?" Her arms uncrossed, and her surprise was reflected in the review mirror. "You're going to college?"

"Kinda."

1:30 P.M.

"Monsieur Hyde?"

Mrs. Trevor, a plump French instructor, finally let Hyde and Donna into her office—after a half-hour wait. Her desk was covered in papers, pictures of France, and a vase of tiger lilies. Hyde sat at a chair in front of it, but Donna remained standing for a minute. She seemed intrigued by the flowers, and her fingertips caressed the petals as Mrs. Trevor pulled out a schedule book.

"How can I help you today, Monsieur Hyde?" Mrs. Trevor said from behind the desk. "Are you a student here?"

"Uh... no." He rubbed the back of his neck and peered around her office. Places like this—cramped and stuffed with learning materials—always made him uncomfortable. A large poster of the Eiffel Tower was taped to the back wall. A bookshelf contained a plastic bowl with chalk, a small blackboard, and lots of books. He suppressed a shudder. Not his scene, man. Not at all. "I gotta learn how to recite a Victor Hugo poem in French," he said. "Like, really _good_ French. Not that _Pepé Le Pew_ crap."

Mrs. Trevor nodded. "May I ask, which poem?"

_"The Heart in Flower."_

Donna chuckled, and he scowled at her, but Mrs. Trevor gasped and covered her heart. "Oh! _L'âme en fleur!_ 'Mon bras pressait ta taille frêle et souple comme le roseau; ton sein palpitait comme l'aile d'un jeune oiseau.'"

_Shit._ Hyde was totally screwed if the poem was supposed to sound like that. She sounded like those pansies in the first—and _only_ —artsy French film Jackie had dragged him to.

"I simply adore that poem," Mrs. Trevor said and pulled a thick, faded folder from her desk. She removed a copy of the poem with both the original French and English translation. Donna took it from her and read it silently to herself.

"Yeah, so how long will it take for me to learn that thing?" he said.

"You have to understand the poem in its original French to be able to recite it properly—" Mrs. Trevor covered her heart again, " _with feeling._ That could take anywhere from six months to two years, depending on your dedication and proficiency."

His shoulders slumped a little. _Huh._ Well, French was out, too.

She opened her schedule book to the page marked "8th Septembre, 1979" and sighed. Her generous rack puffed out with the effort, and her brown curly hair bounced. "Looks like I'm booked through today. I don't teach on Sundays, but I have an opening on Monday if you'd—"

"Would five-hundred bucks clear some of your schedule today?" He plucked a wad of bills from his denim jacket and tossed it onto her desk.

"Hyde!" Donna said. She sounded as astonished as Mrs. Trevor looked.

_" _Quand vous aiment votre rendez-vous?__ _"_ Mrs. Trevor said, and he stared at her. She cleared her throat and smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry. When would you like your appointment?"

"Never." He left the cash on the desk and stood up. "Just wanted to know if five-hundred bucks would make you sell out, man."

1:36 P.M.

Donna stopped Hyde a few feet outside the office. "Okay," she said, "what the hell was that?"

He shrugged. "Just trying to learn a few things."

"You never want to learn things."

"Sure I do." He started walking down the building's wide, open hallway, and she kept pace with him. "I enjoyed learning about Leo's stash from Hawaii, about Kelso nailing Forman's sister, 'bout Jackie kissing the Cheese Guy..."

"Yeah, but those are all—" She shook her head. "Seriously, what is going on with you today?"

"Told you already: I'm trying to get the fuck _out_ of this day."

"By learning French and horseback riding?"

Hyde went silent. He couldn't tell her the truth, that he was gonna go all "Forman" on Jackie, give her everything she wanted for a wedding proposal—to the best of his ability. It wasn't going to include horseback riding or the poem in French... 'cause they were both too much work. But she'd get the sunlit mountain and the picnic.

Donna was waiting for an answer. He didn't wanna lie to her either, so he'd give her _a_ truth—a reason why he was keeping her with him today. "You know how you were fondling those flowers back there?"

She flinched. "What?"

"Those tiger lilies, man. You were getting hot and heavy with 'em."

"Shut up, Hyde." She slapped his left shoulder, and pain radiated down his arm. It must have registered on his face because she apologized. "Sorry, I'm a little sensitive today."

"No shit." He shook his arm, hoping to make the pain dissipate faster. The bruise had screwed enough with his plans today. He had to do better at distancing himself from it.

Donna sucked in a breath and frowned. "They're my favorite flower, y'know? And Eric, that dillhole, didn't even get me a 'good-bye' bouquet before he left."

"Yeah, well, that's mostly why I'm doin' what I'm doin' today," he said, and she turned on him with narrow, questioning eyes. "You need a distraction."

"So your whole repeating-the-same-day-over story," she traced large circles around him with her fingers, "that's been for my benefit?"

"No, that's just the truth."

"Uh-huh."

They reached the entrance hall of the building. Students were hanging around, reading posters on the wall about college events, talking to each other about classes. A round clock hung above a student government poster, and the time read 1:41 P.M. No way of knowing if the cops had nabbed the Waster yet—or would at all. And Donna sounded like she wanted to bail...

Hyde had to keep her with him.

"Listen, I don't expect you to buy it," he said. "Hell, if it were Kelso trying to tell me this shit, I'd call him a liar and slug him in the eye."

"Okay, not a fair comparison." She gripped his arm as they walked out of the building, a good sign. "What if _I_ were telling you this story, would you believe me?"

He smirked. "More than I'd believe Kelso."

"Let's leave it at that then," she said and squeezed his arm. "I believe you more than I'd believe Kelso—but two-times zero is still zero."

"Fair enough."

They were heading for the campus parking lot, and a gust of wind blew Donna's hair into her face. Hyde brushed a thick strand of it from her eyes and settled his hand on the nape of of her neck. She was as much family to him as Forman. The thought of her bein' dead... man, it was bugging the hell outta him.

"You wanna catch a movie?" he said. _" _Life of Brian__ _'s still playing."_

She smiled and poked his cheek. "You're paying."

4:07 P.M.

Hyde brought Donna to the Shooting Star Motel after the movie. She hadn't wanted to go home yet, but he'd planned on bringing her here anyway. Warren, the concierge on duty, checked them into room 2-B at Hyde's request.

"I wake up here every morning," Hyde said once they were in the room. He pointed to the clock radio by the bed. "That bastard blasts the same ABBA song at 8:00 A.M."

Donna winced. "Ooh, that _is_ a nightmare." Then she did a 360-turn and seemed to take in her new surroundings. "It's... cozy."

"Yeah, I've gotten used to it." He sat on the bed and unzipped his duffel bag. He pulled out his stash. "Wanna have a circle?"

"Maybe after a shower," she said and disappeared into the bathroom.

He took something else from his duffel bag—something they'd both need later—and stuck it into his jeans pocket. He had no clue how long her shower would take, but watching the TV was pointless. All the shows were nine-months-old to him. So he removed his boots, lay back on the bed, and shut his eyes.

Ten minutes later, he was fast asleep, but a sharp bounce on the mattress woke him. Donna was sitting beside him, blonde hair wet and combed back. She was still wearing his shirt—the same one Jackie had worn the day he totally lost it.

"You know what I'd do if I lived the same day over?" Donna said.

He didn't bother to sit up. "Call Red a dumbass or play all women's protest songs during your radio show?"

"I wasn't gonna say that, but that does sound a lot like me." Her eyes widened. "Oh, God—I think I'm starting to believe you." She leaned her head back and groaned. "What's wrong with me?"

He slid his hand over her denim-clad thigh. "You'll forget about it tomorrow."

"Really?" She grasped his hand. "So you remember everything, but everyone else forgets?"

"Mostly," he said. "But I think the sense of what happened might stick."

Donna twisted her body around on the bed so she was completely facing him. "You think I'll remember this?" She bent down and kissed him gently.

He didn't stop her. Had figured this was gonna happen, was waiting for it. His fingers swept into her wet hair, and he pulled her in for deeper contact. Better she do this with him than Kelso or some freakin' psycho who could hurt her. He was doing Forman a favor.

She withdrew from him but not too far. "Hyde, you said you wanted to distract me, right?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

"No. I mean, I __really__ need you to distract me." She climbed on top of him and sat so his hips were tight between her thighs. The weight and warmth of her body roused him into hardness immediately. Years ago, this was all he'd wanted, and he couldn't help but wonder if any of those feelings remained.

She grabbed the bottom of her shirt, which was really his shirt, and pulled it off her body. She wasn't wearing a bra, and her breasts were in plain view. She placed his hands on them. They were soft and full, at least twice the size of Jackie's, and their feel against his palms didn't disgust him.

"Do you want to distract me?" She gripped his shoulders and began to grind into his growing erection. "'Cause it feels like you do."

Man, was that the kind of crap that got Forman off? Hyde suppressed a chuckle, not difficult to do considering the pressure on his bruised shoulder. He grasped her hips and stopped her from moving. "If we're gonna do this," he said, "we're doing it my way."

She smiled and climbed off him. They swiftly switched positions: She was on her back, and he lowered his body over her. He was keeping his clothes on for now. He didn't want this to go too fast.

"Hyde..." Donna's eyes glazed over with lust, and her fingers brushed through his hair impatiently. But he hesitated as he took in her face. Her body was unfamiliar ground. If she were some other girl, he wouldn't care.

But this was Donna.

He sat up briefly and pulled off his shirt, and her hands flew to his chest, exploring him and scratching lightly as he lowered himself back down. From that simple touch, his erection grew even more rigid. He hadn't been with a chick in four months; it had caught up with him.

He was supporting himself on his forearms and elbows now, which reduced the weight on his shoulder and pressed her breasts into his skin. The feeling was strange, almost like it was too close. But he didn't hate it. She smelled clean, like the soap from the motel bathroom, and he had no trouble bringing his lips to her bare flesh.

He left open-mouthed kisses on the hollow of her throat, and a quiet sound escaped her, like a whimper. Forman had told him—repeatedly, annoyingly—her neck was especially sensitive. And now Hyde was using that information to help dig her out of her hole. If that wasn't irony, he didn't know what was.

He softened his kisses as his lips went beneath her jaw and up behind her ear. He wanted her to feel good, not used. But he soon felt her tapping at his back.

"Hyde," she said.

"What?"

"Don't kiss me that way."

He raised himself over her body, hands on either side of her head, so that he could really look at her. But the pressure of his own weight sent burning heat into his shoulder. So he finally took a moment to separate himself from the pain. It was an old trick, learned out of necessity.

But Donna sounded like she was in pain herself, and he said quietly, "What way?"

"Like, you know..." her voice grew small, "like you love me."

He frowned, and his index finger hooked a thick strand of her hair. "Why the hell do you think I'm here?"

"But I thought you and Jackie—" She shut her eyes and exhaled sharply. "I thought you were doing this with me to get back at her. Y'know, for Kelso."

He let her hair slip from his finger. His first instinct was to bolt. A herd of guilt was stampeding toward him, but he ran through Kelso's description of Donna's mutilated body, and the herd galloped away. He shook his head. "Not doing this 'cause of Jackie."

"So all that lovey-dovey stuff to her this morning... it wasn't bullshit?"

"No."

Donna's gaze swept over her own body, "Then why are you...?"

"You need it."

She grabbed a tight fistful of his hair, "What I __need__ is a fuck, Hyde. Okay?" and brought his head down for a rough kiss. Again, he didn't fight her. Their mouths widened together as her slick tongue pushed forcefully inside him, and the kiss deepened as much as possible. She never let him have full control, but he soon found her rhythm.

He maneuvered himself so he was straddling her hips, giving his hands freedom to wander her breasts. Forman had told him what she liked there, too, and the slow movements of his thumbs drove her breathing into short bursts. When his mouth enveloped one of her nipples, she moaned shallowly... whispered his name, whispered for freakin' God.

It was strange being this close to her, being the cause of those sounds. It was also the fulfillment of a thousand fantasies from when he was younger—and somewhat incestuous.

But, for now, he pushed those feelings aside and focused on her body. His freed-up hand drifted to the fly of her jeans and unbuttoned it. She gasped as he slipped his fingers inside her panties, into the hot moistness between her thighs. __Man,__ this was weird, but the sensation of massaging her center—along with the deep moans issuing from her throat—hardened him further until his own jeans became tight and uncomfortable. He'd gone far too long without a chick... or maybe just too long without one he gave a shit about.

Donna was rocking her hips against his hand when she grasped the sides of his face. "Fuck me, Hyde. God—you've got to."

He spoke into the curve of her breast. "Okay." His own body was completely ready; his senses were in overdrive. He gave her lips a quick kiss before getting off the bed. Then he unbuckled his belt and pulled a rubber from his pocket—the one he'd put there earlier. Repeating day or not, he wasn't taking any chances. No damn way.

Donna was fully naked before his jeans hit the floor. His erection sprang from his boxers as he pushed them down, and she smiled at him with what seemed like admiration. Or maybe it was relief he could get hard with her.

He took the rubber from its wrapper and began to sheathe himself in it, but she gestured to him frantically. "No condom. I'm still on the pill."

"Donna, I'm using a rubber," he said and continued to unroll it up his shaft. He couldn't risk she was lying—or that this day might take. If he got her pregnant, it would screw them all so much worse.

He approached the bed again, and Donna's expression brightened. Her long legs spread apart her to let him settle between them. He wasn't going to fuck her. For the first time since Chicago, he was going to be with a girl who meant something to him. By that fact alone, this would be something more than a fuck... and the thought scared him a little.

Silently, she grasped the base of his erection and guided him to her entrance. He was hesitating, and she must have known it, but he had to do this for her—for __Forman.__ He sank himself deep inside her, extracting a startled gasp from her lungs. But that escaping breath quickly turned into a satisfied groan.

His own breath grew heavy as he thrusted into her, but the feeling of her heat surrounding him kindled a cold fire in his veins. It crackled in his blood, threw off icy sparks that almost made him shiver. He didn't get it. Nothing like he'd ever experienced before.

Donna seemed happy enough, though. She'd wrapped her legs around his hips and her arms around his back, was hugging him to her body.

Hyde kept his cheek flush against hers as he glided in and out of her warmth. "What do you need?" he whispered. When she moaned in response, he slowed down his strokes. "Come on, Donna. Tell me what you need."

"Faster! God, Hyde—go faster!" Her nails dug into his back, and he increased his rhythm until her grip relaxed.

"What do you really need?" he said again. "'Cause it's not this... It's not me." And he kept on saying it as he drove her toward orgasm.

Finally, her wordless moans formed a word: "Eric!" and he thrusted harder. Her inner core was convulsing around him. "I need Eric!" she shouted.

Her arms and legs fell away from his body. She was shuddering uncontrollably, and silent tears spilled down her cheeks.

Hyde grew still as the cold fire inside him dwindled. It was as if his emotions and his body were on two different wavelengths. His heart was concerned like hell for Donna out of friendship. His body, though, was responding purely to the physical sensation of being inside a chick...

Not to Donna specifically. That was the strangeness he'd been feeling: His heart and his body weren't connected.

Donna was looking at him with wet eyes, and he found he had no interest in coming—not with her. He started to pull out, but she grabbed his shoulders. "Wait," she said "You can finish."

He took one of her hands off him and kissed her wrist. "Not here." Then he pulled out of her completely. His dick was still hard, but she was also still shaking. He couldn't leave her alone with what he'd brought out in her, so he held her quietly until her body relaxed—and his stones started to hurt. "I'll be back in a few minutes," he said.

She stood up with him and looped an arm around his hips. "What you've just done for me, I want to give it back to you."

"Just don't go anywhere," he said. "That's how you can give back, okay? Just stick around."

She nodded.

He gathered up his clothes and went into the bathroom, rubber still on his hardened shaft. He kept it on so clean-up would be fast and easy. The door was locked now, and he leaned his back against it. Jackie was smiling behind his closed eyes, and thoughts of her—along with the use of his hand—propelled him into quick orgasm.

Donna was curled up on the bed when he returned to her. Like him, she'd put her clothes back on—including her own shirt. Unlike him, she was crying.

"Hey," he said softly. He wasn't sure if she wanted him to touch her anymore, but she reached for his hand and answered his question.

She pulled him down behind her, and he lay his body along her back, draped his right arm over her waist. "I feel so trapped without him," she said and hugged his arm to her.

"What would be worse?" he said. "Working it out with Forman—even if it hurt like hell, even if you both screwed up for years until you got it right—or never seeing him again?"

"Never seeing him again," she said. Her voice fell silent—but only for a moment. "Hyde?"

"Yeah?"

"If we really do get to have a do-over tomorrow, remind me of that, okay?"

A small, triumphant smile crept onto Hyde's lips. "Don't have to ask twice."

* * *

It was past seven o' clock when they decided to get dinner. Hyde took Donna to the diner across from the motel. Then he drove them back to Point Place. Driving was a bitch, though. His left arm was sore and heavy from the stress he'd put on it, and his fingers were tingling with numbness. He was too tired to block out the pain, but he didn't want to get them killed, so he leathered up and quit thinking about it.

8:16 P.M. _  
_

Jackie, Kelso, and Fez were all hanging out in the basement by the time Hyde and Donna got there—and Donna didn't make it more than a foot inside. Her face flushed, and she muttered, "Gotta go make dinner for my dad," before practically running back outside.

Hyde took two casual steps forward, and Kelso shouted, "Jackie said you forgave us! Is that true?"

"Shut up, Michael! I told you he did!" Jackie said. She was sitting in Hyde's chair—and waited until he reached her to jump up and throw her arms around his neck. "I'm so happy you're back!" Her mouth fit over his perfectly, moved with the perfect rhythm, let him taste her just the right amount...

And felt completely wrong. Guilt, man. Fuckin' guilt. He hadn't considered any of the sex he'd had before today cheating—'cause after Chicago he'd broken up with Jackie in his mind, and he was using those chicks to quit loving her. But Donna was different, man, because she was _Donna,_ and technically he'd gotten back together with Jackie this morning.

"Steven?" She pulled away. "What's wrong?"

_Crap._ The hole where his stomach used to be was almost as big as when he'd slept with the nurse. But telling Jackie about Donna, confessing, would only cause her unnecessary pain.

"A couple of things," he said and was glad his shades were on. He pulled up his left sleeve, revealing his now purple-black bruise. It covered the entire ball of his shoulder. "This, for starters."

She gasped. "Did that moose Donna beat you up?"

"No, I ran into a guy's fist this morning. He wouldn't move his car."

"Ai..." Fez stood from the couch and tried to poke Hyde's bruise. Hyde slapped his hand away. "It is so ugly," Fez said and scrunched up his face.

Kelso laughed. "That, my friend is what we call a bullfrog. Wish I'd given it to him."

"Does it hurt, baby?" Jackie's lips touched Hyde's bruised skin tenderly, The kiss penetrated his chest like a missile, but the warhead carried only shame.

"Yeah..." he said and rolled down his sleeve. Jackie started for the deep freeze, but he held her back. "Don't want any ice."

She huffed, like she usually did when he wouldn't let her take care of him.

"Seriously, Jackie. It's fine." He sat in his chair and brought her into his lap—even though that felt wrong, too.

Her fingers lazily combed through the back of his hair while _The Ropers_ played on the television. It should have been a peaceful moment. Kelso and Fez were complaining about the lack of decent boobs on the show, which made Hyde chuckle, but he was fidgeting with his hands, unable to rest them on Jackie for too long in any one spot. She was gonna call him on it unless he gave her a reason first.

"What's botherin' me more," he said, "is this sicko called the Wisconsin Waster."

Kelso leapt to his feet as if he'd been shocked with a cattle prod. "How do you know about him?"

"Overheard some cops talkin' today."

"Oh, crap..." Kelso said and eased back onto the couch. "We were supposed to be keeping this case quiet, but I guess it doesn't matter anymore." A grin lit up his face. "That anonymous tip the Department got this morning was totally on the money!"

"They caught him?" Hyde said.

Kelso nodded. "Detective Carlyle staked out the Le Motel with a bunch of undercover cops. They nabbed the guy, but only after he'd..."

Hyde finished Kelso's sentence: "Offed another chick."

"No one knew what he looked like," Kelso said with a shrug. "None of his vics have ever survived to describe him."

Jackie shifted her weight on Hyde's lap. She couldn't have been happy about the topic of conversation—especially 'cause it wasn't centered around her—but maybe it was tapping into her memory of yesterday. He wasn't finished with his questions, though, and said to Kelso, "But you know what he looks like now, right?"

" _ _I__ don't. I saw Officer Kennedy on my way here from The Hub. He told me about the arrest, but I didn't want details. Talking about the Waster always gives me nightmares—" Kelso shuddered. "Damn! Now I'm gonna have 'em for a week! Thanks a lot, _Hyde."_

"No problem."

"Steven..." Jackie hopped off his lap and took his hand, "I don't wanna hear about this Waster-guy anymore." She pulled him to his room. "I need to talk to you, __alone.__ _"_

"Ooh, they're going to do it! They're going to do it!" Fez sang as Hyde shut the door behind him.

He hadn't been inside his room for over two weeks, when he got Chrissy's number from his cigar box. His focus that day on finding her hadn't let him take in his surroundings, but now the room's different elements shone at him like beacons. Jackie had changed his room a long time ago—just like she'd changed him—but only vestiges of those changes remained: Mainly, the goose down duvet on his cot and the lavender-scented candle. But he'd torn down the twinkle lights and chucked the framed photo of her underneath his cot, casualties of their fight last Christmas.

Those twinkle lights, man. Taking those down had been a definite signal to her. Without them, his windowless room was almost pitch-black in the mornings. She always used to turn on his bare bulb when she woke before him—back when she spent the nights. And the twinkle lights kept her from having to do that.

"Steven..." Jackie turned on the bulb and locked his door.

"Yeah?" His pulse tightened. All he wanted to do was escape, but she pushed him down to the cot and straddled his lap. She was careful of his shoulder. Her arms slid gently around his back, and her floral scent filled his nostrils as she brought her cheek to rest against his.

"I wanna make love with you, baby," she whispered. Her her breath warmed his ear, but her words froze him the point of paralysis. _"Please,_ Steven." His muscles wouldn't move. All he could do was sit there helplessly while she begged him. "I've missed you so much," she said, and her hold tightened around him. "I need you to be with me."

He couldn't do it, couldn't even kiss her. His guilt handcuffed him. "Jackie, I—"

Her mouth sucked in his earlobe, kindling his muscles to life. He grasped her around the waist and lifted her off his lap. Yeah, he'd had a bunch of good reasons for sleeping with Donna, but only of them was the full truth: He was curious. He'd never made love to anyone but Jackie. All the other chicks he'd been with—before her, after her—were just sex. Didn't affect anything but his body. But Jackie...

When he was inside her—or just __with__ her—it was safe to feel. And he wanted to feel—'cause what she brought out in him, what she gave him—nothing was like it, man. Nothing. The world and its bullshit fell away. Donna was the only other girl he thought he could feel that way with.

He hadn't.

Hyde stared between his knees at the concrete floor. He couldn't look Jackie in the face. __"What do you want, Steven?"__ she'd asked him yesterday. _"I mean, what do you_ really _want?"_ and that was what he was trying to answer. If Jackie wasn't enough, what the hell would be?

A sharp pain jabbed his left shoulder, and his gaze shot up. Jackie had poked him where she knew it would hurt the most. "I thought you forgave me," she said. "The way you kissed me this morning and looked at me and spoke to me..."

"Yeah, I did," he said and took off his shades. He wanted to give her the respect of his naked eyes. "But I don't think you're gonna forgive me."

"What—" her voice shook, "what did you do, Steven?"

"I had sex with another girl."

She nodded, and her expression filled with anguish. Unlike yesterday—unlike all the other times he'd told her about screwing different chicks—she believed him. "Donna?" she said very quietly.

"Yeah." He hadn't wanted to betray Donna, but no way was he lying to Jackie. "I'm sorry." The words sounded like shit, just like he felt. But his feelings didn't matter. He could've found another method of helping Donna, and he'd chosen the one that would hurt Jackie the most. "You wanna leave, I won't blame you."

"Steven," Jackie rammed her fist into his left shoulder, "shut up."

He bit down a curse and shut his eyes as hot pain traveled down his arm. Sparks of numbness overtook his fingers, and he wished his heart could be so lucky.

When he opened his eyes, he fully expected Jackie to be gone. But she was sitting in the dusty armchair in the corner. Her head was angled down, and he watched as she tried to process what he'd told her—or maybe how she was gonna get him back for it.

He shouldn't have come back to the basement tonight. He should've driven back to the motel, lit up a joint or three, and waited 'til the next day. But something in him had needed to see her.

"I want to hate you for it," she said finally, almost ten minutes later. "I wanna believe today was your revenge on me for Chicago, but I—" She sighed and looked away. Then her gaze drilled straight into him. "Steven, I need you to tell me why."

"Forman," he said low. "Being without him's killin' her."

"No, I need to you tell me why I don't hate you. Because my mind..." A bitter laugh escaped her. "Oh, God, my mind is saying you're the worst piece of slime I ever slipped in, but this—" she patted her heart, "doesn't agree. Why?"

"It's your damn heart. How the hell should I know?" The words came out harsher than he intended, but their bite was meant for himself. He felt like total crap... like slime.

"There's something you're keeping from me," she said. He shrugged and opened his mouth to speak, but her pointed finger shut him up from across the room, "Don't you _dare_ pull an 'I don't know' on me, Steven. Were you telling me the truth this morning?"

"Yes."

"Then what aren't you telling me about tonight?"

He thought over what he'd done with Donna, from their first kiss to the end, and said, "I didn't come inside her."

Jackie's eyes widened. "Where did you...?"

"The bathroom."

"Because?"

A lone, sad chuckle burst from his chest. "The sex meant shit to me 'cause it wasn't you."

She fell quiet again. Then: "If you hadn't showed up last night, I would have slept with Michael."

"I know."

"Donna needed you?"

"Yeah, but quit trying to justify what I did, Jackie. Just hate me, okay?" His hands slid over his eyes, grasped his hair before dropping to his knees. "That's what all this has been about, man," he said to the floor. "Getting me to understand I don't fucking deserve you..." he looked up at her, "'cause I don't."

"Steven!"

"I'm gonna wake up, and it's gonna be tomorrow, and you won't be there. That's what September 9th, 1979's been waiting for..." He rolled his eyes. "The first time I woke up on Saturday, I thought you didn't deserve _me._ Man, I'm dumber than Kelso."

She gasped. "Don't say that, baby."

"279 days... Kelso would've gotten it by now."

"What are you talking about?"

"Doesn't matter. Look," he stood up, "I'll walk you home if you want—or get Kelso to. If you wanna fuck him, I got no say in it anymore."

Jackie got off the chair and walked to him. "Sit with me." Her fingers wrapped around his palm and guided him to the cot. Then she sat beside him and held his hand on her knee. Her closeness made his stomach clench. What the hell was wrong with her?

"You're probably right," she said. "You don't deserve me. But nobody does. I'm just too good for everyone." She was smiling at him, and he couldn't help but return it. "This is the most you've told me in a long time." Her grip on his hand tightened. " I was right about you, wasn't I? Before our first kiss, when you spat in my face."

Hyde's smile deepened into a grin. "Sorry about that."

"You don't just feel unworthy of me," she said. "You don't feel worthy of love at all. That's why you shut yourself off to it."

"Jackie—"

_"Shh."_ She pressed a finger to his lips, flooding him with a sense of déjà vu. "You may not feel worthy of love," she said, "but you're so capable of it, Steven. That's why I went to you when I was with Michael... That's why Donna went to you today. It radiates off you like waves or something."

"I'm also capable of being a total asshole."

"Of course you are. You grew up poor, and poor people are bad." Hyde laughed, but she was frowning. "I'm serious, Steven. Your parents were horrible, and sometimes I just want to shout at them for what they did to you." She leaned her head on his right shoulder. "You deserved so much better than them."

His breath grew rough and shallow. He couldn't believe what she was doing, that she was comforting him after what he'd done.

"Oh, I wish you'd grown up with your rich daddy," she said with a sigh. "Then you would've been absolutely perfect."

__Perfect.__ He kept himself from scowling, but the word "perfect" calcified his heart into a thick stone. "I would've grown up in Milwaukee," he said, "and we never would've met."

She sat up straight. "We would have. Rich people run in the same circles."

They stared at each other for a moment, and her soft expression turned his heart back into muscle and blood. "So..." he said, "where are we?"

"I can't forgive you..." she said.

Hyde nodded. He couldn't forgive himself either.

_"...today."_ She stood up and stroked the back of his hair. "But I'll try to forgive you tomorrow. And if it doesn't happen then, the day after that—and every day until it happens. Because this life... Steven, it won't mean anything without you."

His eyes squeezed shut. "Fuck." He hugged her around the hips and pulled her stomach flush against his face. __"Fuck...__ _"_

Her fingernails lightly scratched the nape of his neck. "Puddin', you're gonna have to forgive yourself, too."

"I don't know how, doll."

"Well, you're gonna have to figure it out," she said and pulled away. "Because your heart's been locked in a prison," her eyes looked pleadingly at him, "and I need it with __me.__ _"  
_

9:16 P.M.

Hyde dropped Jackie off at the Burkhart Mansion. She'd given him a peck on the lips before leaving the Camino but didn't say good-bye, and he watched as she entered the house. Then he drove the Camino down the backroads of Point Place, away from the rich part of town and into its poorer neighborhoods.

He picked up a bottle 80-proof Smirnoff vodka—same brand as his mom used to drink—from the same liquor store she used to frequent. By 9:41 P.M., he was sitting on the rotting porch steps of the house he grew up in. No one seemed to be living there. The only light came from the crescent moon and the stars that winked overhead.

He drank the vodka slowly. The familiar burn down his throat reminded of him the times he'd yelled it raw—at Edna. No one else had ever gotten him to that point but her. Her words could cut through his Zen and hack away at his insides, and his only defenses were to shout back or leave...

Until their last fight, the one before she finally left for good.

Years ago, the night after "Grandma" Forman's funeral, Hyde was home and sitting on their busted couch. His lip was swollen and bruised from defending Forman's honor at a bar—and Edna was halfway to being wasted, pacing the living room.

"Oh, great. They're going to think I did it," she said. "I'm gonna get arrested."

He scooted over to the other side of the couch—a spring had been sticking into his back. "Nah. Doesn't look like your work. I would've had a black eye, too."

"Damn right," she said. "Who the hell were you up against, a bunch of fruits? Were you at one of those bars for queers?"

"Whatever." He tried to focus on the TV. The Chicago White Sox were playing against the Minnesota Twins.

Edna took an enthusiastic swig from her glass of gin. "You and that skinny kid you're always hanging around with... you two are fucking each other, right?"

"Yup. You caught me."

"That's why his mother always gives me those damn dirty looks." She stopped pacing and stood beside the couch. "She's a slut, you know. Screws with any willing dog comes her way."

"No, Ma. That's you."

Edna struck him hard across the face, made him flinch. One of her long nails left a scratch below his eye, and his already-bruised lip began to throb. But he didn't say a word, didn't even move. He kept staring at the baseball game. Steve Renko, the White Sox starting pitcher, just got switched out for Bart Johnson.

"You've got no right to resent me, Steven," she said. "Every night, I go to bed praying for God to take you from my life." She gave him the glass of gin and clasped her hands together in a mock prayer. "'I don't care how you do it, Lord. Let him be run down by a car, let him be shot by a jealous girlfriend or die of food poisoning—just free me from this devil-child I've been saddled with.'"

Hyde took a sip of her booze and watched Bart Johnson throw a strike, but his Zen had thinned.

She grabbed her glass again. "Every morning, I wake up hoping that you just won't be here, Steven. And every morning, you're here." She drank a large swallow of gin. "You're still fucking here."

"Then why don't you just do it yourself?" he said calmly. "Get it over with."

"Because that's not what mothers are supposed to do." She was pacing again.

"Since when did you give a shit about that?"

She hurled her glass at his skull, but he dodged it easily. The glass broke on the floor behind him, and she started to yell. "What the hell makes you so damn special, huh?" Because you're a kid? You've got no fucking right to resent me!"

He shrugged. "Maybe you're right."

"What?" She was already on her way to the kitchen for more booze.

"I don't really care anymore," he said. His eyes remained fixed on the game, but he could see her in the corner of them. "I piss you off. You piss me off, but I'm kinda done with being pissed. So whatever."

"That's it?"

He shrugged again, and, in moments, she was standing between him and the television. "Your father should've pulled out his dick instead of leaving you inside me, the fucking bastard."

Hyde inhaled a careful breath and kept his head down. Willpower, not Zen, prevented the energy in him from exploding. __Something__ had to change.

"Steven!" she shouted. He reflexively looked up at her, and she grabbed his lip right where it was swollen, twisted it. "You care about that?"

He withstood the pain, just as he'd withstood the sixteen years of bleak hell she'd put him through already. Usually, he would've pried her off. But something __had__ to change.

"Say something, you bastard!" Edna said.

"Could you... get outta the bay?" His fingers dug into the exposed couch stuffing as she continued to twist. "I'b trying to batch the gabe."

A scream that could've cracked glass tore from her chest, but she finally let go of him. "You were put on this Earth to punish me," she whispered and stumbled away. "You were put on this Earth to punish me." Her bedroom door slammed shut.

Three days later, she ran off with a trucker. He hadn't seen her since. That was four years ago.

Now, on the front porch of his rotten old house, Hyde was staring up at the stars. He spotted the V-shaped constellation Andromeda, the Chained Lady. Jackie had taught him where and what it was. She always used to point out constellations to him. Her father would take her star-gazing at night, one of the only ways they'd really connected outside of money. And she'd shared that love with Hyde—like she'd shared so many other unexpected, surprisingly cool things with him

The bottle of vodka felt heavy in his hand. Besides drinking, Edna's favorite pastime seemed to have been making him miserable. But she'd been miserable herself. Miserable and trapped.

He chucked the bottle into the bushes by the Camino, but he didn't take his eyes off the stars. Fitting that the Chained Lady had watched over his childhood... just like it watched over him now.


	15. Intervention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do” (C) ABBA; 1993 Polydor / Umgd.

CHAPTER 15  
 **INTERVENTION**

Hyde woke, and his chest felt like a cavernous pit. But with his second conscious breath, everything bad he'd ever done to Jackie flowed into him—and drowned him in shame. He was back in the Shooting Star Motel on his 280th morning. All he'd done yesterday was wiped out in the minds of the people he cared about...

Which would've been badass if he were the conscienceless bastard he liked to claim he was. But he was a bastard who gave a shit, and the thought thrust him from the bed and straight to the phone. He called up Donna at the Pinciottis'. Their conversation about Jackie and Chicago went as it had the day before, but he changed tactics when he moved the subject to Forman.

"You gotta be pissed as hell at him," he said, "for doing more crap without thinkin' how it would affect you."

She hesitated before answering. "Yeah..."

"If it were me," he said, "I'd probably wanna go out and nail the first chick I could find, just so I could feel like I was doing something for myself."

"Yeah!" she said. "God, that's __exactly__ how I feel."

"But I gotta ask you, man, what would be worse? Working it out with him—even if it hurt, even if you both screwed up for years until you got it right—or never seeing him again?"

"Never seeing him again," she said quickly; then she fell silent.

Hyde drummed his fingers on the nightstand. "Donna?" More silence. "Hey, Donna—"

"Sorry." Her voice sounded tight, and she cleared her throat. "Hyde, I think you just blew my mind."

"Yeah, I'm good at that lately."

"Are you coming home today?"

"Later. Got some errands to run first," he said. And before she could ask him what he meant, he warned her about the Wisconsin Waster. "Don't go to the motel."

She agreed not to, "I won't, believe me," and they hung up. He'd just have to trust her word on that today.

* * *

8:12 A.M. Hyde was down in the lobby of the motel, making out with Phyllis, the concierge.

8:16 A.M. He was in the Camino with Phyllis's .38 special in the glove compartment.

8:25 A.M. He arrived at the Hobarts' accident and punched out Chad without getting injured this time.

11:45 A.M.

Hyde had driven to the Le Motel in Burlington, Wisconsin after a light breakfast. For over two hours, he sat in a chair by the lobby's wicker Eiffel Tower sculpture. A copy of _Fish and Game Magazine_ was in his hands, and the .38 special was hidden inside his denim jacket. The gun's handle dug into his chest—not exactly ideal. But he felt safer with the gun than without it.

The lobby had too many freakin' people walking around, most of 'em couples. It was Saturday, though, so it made sense. A small line had formed at the concierge desk. He kept his focus on that. The Waster had brought Donna to a room here.

After another hour, a tubby guy with a Fleetwood Mac shirt got in the line with a willowy blonde. She swayed a little on her feet, and the guy steadied her. His hand slipped into the waistband of her khakis, gave her right buttock a squeeze.

_Bingo._

Hyde waited until they had only one person in front of them. Then he left the magazine on the chair, carefully stood up so the gun didn't shift in his pocket, and got in line behind them. They weren't talking to each other, didn't seem to be relating, and two minutes later, Fleetwood Mac and his drunk or drugged "date" were given keys to room 302.

Around the corner from the concierge desk was a bank of elevators. Hyde followed his marks there, keeping his distance as best he could. A vending machine and several payphones stood against the opposite wall, and he considered calling the cops. But by the time the fuzz got here, it would be too late. So, instead, he joined his marks as they headed into an elevator.

"Hey," Hyde said once the elevator doors closed.

The willowy blonde didn't react, but the guy nodded at him.

Hyde forced a smile and put artificial cheer into his voice. "Name's Mitch. I'm here for the Burlington Doll Expo. You like __Star Wars,__ man? I like __Star Wars.__ _"_

"Kevin," the guy said, "and no."

"Space is such a drag," the blonde said. Her voice was slurry, and her eyes were dilated—definitely on something.

Hyde scowled inwardly. It had been easy for him to spot the Waster; why the hell had it been so hard for the police to figure it out?

They stopped on the third floor, and Kevin guided the blonde out of the elevator. Hyde followed, and soon as the elevator doors closed behind them, he tapped Kevin on the shoulder.

Kevin turned around. "What is y—"

Hyde rammed his fist into Kevin's throat, sending the guy stumbling backward.

"Why would you do that?" the blonde mumble-shouted. "Why would you do that?"

She ordered Hyde to leave Kevin alone, but Hyde was already on top of him. They fell to the floor together as Hyde slugged him in the jaw. Another punch made blood spray from Kevin's nose and slowed his movements to almost nothing. Hyde allowed himself a smirk and patted Kev's pants pockets. The knife had to be on the guy somewhere. Maybe a switchblade. He stuck his hand into a pocket.

"Stop it!" the blonde shouted. She leapt onto Hyde's back, wrapped her slender but strong fingers around his throat. But he pried her off, dropped her to the floor—and that made the .38 fall out of his jacket. He reached for it.

She was faster.

She stood up and pointed the gun at him. Her hands weren't shaking.

"Hey, this guy wants to kill you," Hyde said. He raised his hands, holding the small Swiss Army knife he'd pulled from Kevin's pocket. "He's gonna use this to... damn it." It sounded weak even to him. Maybe he'd gotten it wrong.

"That's my boyfriend," the blonde said. Her finger tightened around the trigger. "And I love him, and we're supposed to have sex, and you ruined that!"

_BLAM!_ __  
__

* * *

_"I do, I do, I do, I do, I do."_

ABBA played from the clock radio, waking Hyde up in the Shooting Star Motel. He'd definitely gotten it wrong. Death sixteen, man. That drugged-up bitch who'd shot him, she was nuts.

He was outside the Le Motel by 12:30 P.M. after completing his usual tasks—calling Donna, helping the Hobarts—and eating an early lunch. This time he was without the gun and had a different strategy. He'd called the cops, giving him the tip about the Waster. Whoever his victim was, she'd have to go through it one more time.

Hyde leaned against the building's beige bricks and flipped through the __National Geographic__ he'd bought. No idea when the bust would happen or if it would even be outside the motel. But he wasn't gonna keep knocking guys out, hoping he'd finally gotten it right.

Time crept by, and he kept peering through the motel's glass double doors. People entered and left, and supposedly the cops were in there, scoping everyone out. He should've asked Kelso how undercover investigations like this went down so he'd know what to expect. Or he should've brought Fez to keep him company—'cause the wait was agonizing, man.

At 1:53 P.M., plainclothes cops finally dragged a skinny guy out in handcuffs. He looked like a darker-haired, squinty-eyed version of Forman and couldn't have been much older. No-fuckin'-wonder Donna had gone with him.

A pack of thick-mustached men swarmed from the motel. Some of them were speaking into walkie-talkies. More cops.

"Hey, didja catch the Wisconsin Waster?" Hyde said as they walked by.

"Oh, yeah," one of them said. "Finally got that scum. Too bad it wasn't befo—"

Another cop elbowed the first in the stomach.

Hyde smiled to himself. Patience had paid off for once—not that he'd really tried it before.

He spent the rest of the day chilling at Echo Lake, a few minutes away from the motel. He found a private spot underneath a beech tree, smoked a few joints, ate some grub. It was a nice place, kinda serene. But its tranquility clashed with the turmoil jammed inside him. The memory of sleeping with Donna was fresh in his mind and body—as was the image of Jackie's horrified face when she'd caught him with Pam... and the anguish in her voice as she begged him about their future.

The pain he'd caused her, he wasn't shut off to any of it now. He couldn't take it back or undo it. That she still wanted him after all he'd done, it made no damn sense.

His hand dug into a clump of moist earth and squeezed. Dirt oozed between his fingers, fell back to the ground. If only his fucking heart could be crushed so easily and washed away.

He wiped his hand on his jeans and sparked up his fourth joint. Jackie was right, man. His shame would keep him trapped, as much as September 8th did. And as the sun set on the horizon, as night fell, he still had no idea how to let it all go. But saving his dick for her—and only her—seemed like a good place to start.

**DAY 282**

Hyde got to the Le Motel at 10:30 A.M. He sat in the chair by the wicker Eiffel Tower and kept his eyes on the guests mulling around the lobby. The Waster was probably out looking for his victim. Maybe he'd already reserved the motel room in preparation.

Over two hours passed, and no evil-Forman showed up. But Kevin and his willowy blonde headcase had arrived. They got their key and disappeared to the bank of elevators.

Another fifteen minutes drifted by, and Hyde felt antsy as hell. It was like waiting for a dentist appointment and the dentist was running late. He went around to the vending machine and bought some gum, just so he had something else to focus on. But his patience finally paid off at 1:04 P.M. The Waster, wearing black "Woody Allen" glasses, walked into the motel with a short brunette. She was laughing with him, touching his arm... She had no damn clue.

Hyde had plenty.

He stepped up to the brunette calmly, grasped her wrist, and yanked her back. She yelped in surprise, but before the Waster could react, Hyde's foot slammed him in the 'nads. The Waster groaned and doubled over, but Hyde wasn't finished. He grasped the Waster's scalp, forced up his face, and smashed him with a right cross. One solid punch was all it took. The Waster crashed to the floor, unconscious. Just like Forman would have.

"Someone call the police!" one of the motel's guests shouted

"Yeah," Hyde thumbed at the unconscious evil-Forman, "on that guy. He's the Wisconsin Waster, man! Was about to off this chick."

"What?" the brunette said.

He crossed his arms and glanced at her face. Rounder than Jackie's, different nose, but something about her eyes was similar. Maybe it was the indignation in them. "Yeah, you gotta be more careful who you get snowed-in by."

"No," she said, "what's the 'Wisconsin Waster?'"

"A bad, __bad__ guy." He turned toward the concierge. "Hey, you calling the freakin' cops or wha—"

A sharp pain pierced his lower back It made his legs buckle, and the brunette started to scream. He couldn't concentrate. The pain was growing worse by the second, into a burning throb, and he touched his hand to his back. His shirt was soaked.

He didn't have to look at his fingers to know the Waster had stabbed him. The psycho had been faking.

Hyde sank to the lobby's cold floor, and people yelled for an ambulance as he lay there. The Waster must have hit his kidney. Death was imminent—he'd gotten pretty good at knowing the signs. And just before he passed out from blood loss, he thought: __I'm a fucking moron__ _.  
_

**DAY 283**

Hyde awoke in the Shooting Star Motel, and his first thought was: _I really am a fucking moron._ He'd assumed that because the Wisconsin Waster looked like Forman, he'd be as weak as Forman. But the Waster had earned his name for a reason, getting away with murder-after-murder.

It was the brunette that did him in, though. Her similarity to Jackie, superficial as it was, made him careless. The image of Jackie being slaughtered flashed too quickly yesterday to register, but his heart had clearly sensed it. One thing, though, set his mind to rest: Jackie never would've been attracted to the Waster. He was too "Eric-y".

Hyde called Donna first, as he had the last few days. Then he called the cops and told him what the Waster looked like and exactly when he'd show up at the Le Motel. Hyde wanted to go there himself again, to make sure the cops didn't screw it up today, so he got off the bed and started to get ready.

He pulled off his rank Rolling Stones shirt, and an idea shot through his brain: __He was damn lucky.__ He'd died seventeen times, man, and he was still alive. Being stuck in this day might've been a prison, but it was also a "Get Out of Jail Free" card. Otherwise, wouldn't have one of his deaths stuck? Or Jackie's... Donna's? Maybe something else was going on here besides a fucking punishment, but damn if he knew what it was.

1:45 P.M.

Hyde was standing across the street from the Le Motel. He figured the police would bust the Waster on his way in. He was right. Four plainclothes cops tackled the Waster soon as he approached the motel's glass doors. The brunette with him screamed, but another undercover cop pulled her away.

"And we've got our weapon," one of the thick-mustached officers said. He held up a folding hunter knife.

Hyde could see the knife's curved edge from where he stood. The sight made his body tense, and his hand shot to his back in memory. What Donna had experienced because of this guy... Hyde shut his eyes and shook the thought away. It hadn't happened, not today.

And it never would again.

He waited until the Waster was in cuffs and shoved into the back of a cop car. Then he walked to the motel's parking lot and got into the Camino. He needed to get home, to the Formans'. It had been three days since he'd been there—and three days since he'd seen any of his friends or Jackie. This freakin' Waster-thing, he hadn't wanted to bring anyone else into it.

2:34 P.M.

Hyde entered the Formans' kitchen, but no one was there. He checked the living room, and no one was there, either. Or in the basement. Or in the whole damn house. He tried the Pinciottis' next, but nada. So he drove to the Burkhart Mansion, rang the doorbell a solid two minutes before Pam answered the door.

"What do you want?" she said. Her eyes were bleary, and she held onto the door frame for support. "Wait, you're Jackie's friend... Simon? Sammy... Sven?"

"Yeah..." He rubbed the back of his neck but didn't lower his gaze. Worst thing: Pam was totally wasted Best thing: Hyde could look at her without wanting to puke. "She home?"

"I don't know." Pam glanced behind her. "Jackie! Jaaaaaackiiiieeeee!" She turned back to Hyde. "No."

He tried to thank her, but the door closed before he had a chance. _  
_

* * *

Hyde drove around in the Camino for a while, stopped at The Hub, the Water Tower, even the damn mall, but none of his friends were anywhere. He gave up around five 'o clock and went back to the Formans', where he found Jackie and the rest in the basement... having a circle.

"What the hell?" he said. The place smelled thickly of his reserve stash, mixed with the incense they used to cover it up. They'd been in the circle for a while.

"Steven!" Jackie shouted. She was sitting on the couch next to Kelso, but she pushed at him. "Move... Move over!"

Kelso wasn't budging. "Yeah, that's it, baby. I like it rough—OW! Too rough, too rough."

Hyde had grabbed him and and flung him to the floor. "Stay there," he said. Then he sat on the couch, and Jackie touched his knee.

"I didn't do it with him, Steven. I was gonna, but I didn't." She gasped. "Oh, no. I didn't wanna tell you that." She gasped again. "Oh, God... I didn't wanna tell you __that__ either!"

Hyde eased her into his arms and closed his eyes. "Don't care." He was feeling lightheaded. No food in his stomach, hadn't eaten all day. Was too edgy about the Waster; then he couldn't find anybody. He'd gotten used to knowing exactly where everyone would be and when.

Something had changed today.

"Where were you?" he said by Jackie's ear.

"Bowling!" she said too loudly. She tapped his back, as if she wanted him to stop hugging her. He did but grabbed one of her hands. Needed to remain in physical contact with her. That Waster-crap had spooked him a little.

"Why?" he said.

Jackie pointed at Donna. "She made us."

"Guess who won?" Donna said. She was smiling widely, and a stream of smoke rose into her face from the incense. "That's right. __Me.__ I beat Eric's highest score, too. When he comes back, I'll be able to kick his ass in something else."

"My balls were pink," Fez said. He had the joint, which was little more than a roach at this point. "I used Jackie's because all she did was cry. 'Wah! Wah! Steven doesn't love me!'" He reached across the table and gave the joint to Hyde. "She made me throw my pink balls into the gutter!"

"Hyde..." Kelso was sitting on the arm of the couch now, "are you gonna kill me? 'Cause if you are, you gotta give me a head start."

"No," Hyde said. "No one's dying today, man." No one _else,_ at least. Mrs. Hobart and her unborn kid were already dead.

He returned his attention to Jackie but found he couldn't speak. She was too damn beautiful—and high as hell. All he wanted to do was take her into his room.

"Steven, do you hate me?" Her eyes were growing wet, and her voice was still too loud.

He passed the joint to Kelso without taking a pull. Jackie didn't remember any of the conversations they'd had or the death they'd shared. But she seemed to carry them in her somehow. Maybe all the things he'd done had finally caught up with her.

"Jackie," he slid his palms over her cheeks, and his fingers lay gently by her ears, "I could never fuckin' hate you."

" _ _Aww!__ _"_ Donna said. "You love her!"

Hyde nodded. "Yup." More than he knew was possible.

"Kiss her, fool!" Fez shouted.

"No!" Kelso said. "It's a trick, Jackie—don't believe him"

Hyde shoved him off the couch's arm.

"See?" Kelso said from the floor. "A trick!"

"Shut up, Michael!" Jackie tossed the couch's ratty green blanket at him. Then she peered at Hyde cautiously. "Steven _,_ __is__ this a trick?"

"No." He took of his shades and tossed them onto the table. "Does it look like I'm pulling a fast one?"

Kelso's head popped free from the green blanket. "Yes!"

Hyde sank deep into the couch. His stomach was growling. He needed food, needed a nap—preferably with Jackie in his arms—and needed to get out of this damn day for good.

"What do you want, Steven?"

"Huh?" He opened his eyes. He hadn't realized they'd closed. Jackie was staring at him.

"I think he wants to sleep," Fez said.

Hyde patted his still-growling stomach. "Haven't eaten." His eyes drifted shut again.

"Why not?" Donna said.

"Caught the Waster," he muttered.

"Wh-what?" Kelso said. The couch cushions bounced a little as he squeezed in next to Hyde.

Hyde grinned drowsily. "Looks like an evil version of Forman... smarter, though. And way nastier. Killed me yester..."

"Steven!" Jackie slapped his face lightly. "Steven!"

But he couldn't open his eyes. He was just too tired. The voices of his friends shrank into a faint buzz, and his breaths grew heavy. He'd fallen half-asleep.

__Jackie,__ he said in his mind, but his mouth remained closed. __Damn.__ He would've laughed at the irony if he _could've_ laughed. Now he was stuck in his body, too.

But his mind was as active as ever. Memories played deep in his head as if they came from a radio. He had no control over them, and he listened helplessly as they rolled out, one after another:

__I freakin' swear I did this day already... I could marry you... Steven... harder... One question. You asked it... Why do you want to die? Is it because I didn't mother you enough..._ _ _._ __I just want to feel better..._ _ __Selfish fuck... Where was this interest in the last year..._ _ __I don't have a future anymore, Jackie... I'm clearly not enough... Fine, I'll find the sonuvabitch myself... Quand vous aiment votre rendez-vous... I feel so trapped without him..._ _ _Because this life, Steven, it won't mean anything without you... W_ __hat do you want... What do you want... What do you want?_ _

A sharp smell blasted up his nostrils and forced open his eyes. Mrs. Forman was hovering over him with a bottle of smelling salts under his nose.

"What's up?" he said weakly. His brain felt like it was wrapped in mist.

"You were unconscious." She shoved a thick sandwich into one of his hands and a glass of orange juice in the other. "Eat up, honey."

"Nah," he said, "just takin' a nap," but he took a gulp of the orange juice.

Mrs. Forman sat next to him on the couch. "Why would you starve yourself? Is it because you found Jackie with Michael last night?"

"Nope," he said, but it sounded like, "Mopf," so he shook his head. He'd taken a big bite of the sandwich, roast beef. His mouth was too full.

"Then what is it, sweetie? You know you can tell me anything."

He swallowed down the bite and said, "Where's Jackie?"

"I sent the kids home. I had to pry Jackie off of poor Red. She wouldn't stop crying about how she made you sick."

"Crap..." He took another sip of orange juice and another mouthful of sandwich. "I have to get out of this day," he said, but it sounded like, "Mm hff gbb thss dab."

"Swallow, Steven," she said.

He did, and his head began to clear. "Can I ask you a question, Mrs. Forman?" She nodded. "Let's say, hypothetically, you were forced to live the same day over. Like, tomorrow you woke up, but it was September 8th again. And this shi—stuff kept happening for months. What would you do?"

Mrs. Forman clapped her hands. "Ooh, I love questions like this. Red and I play a similar game all the time, only sexy. I ask him something like, 'If we didn't know each other, and we were both at a party, and I walked in wearing that red dress that makes y—"

"Mrs. Forman..."

"Sorry." She cleared her throat. "Living each day over, huh?" He nodded. "I think—I think I'd read all the books in the library. Oh! I'd take piano lessons! My mother never let me do it. She used to say, 'Fingers are for pointing, not for playing.' And with going to nursing school and raising two kids, I never had the time. Maybe I'd finally learn how to knit socks, too. They're more complicated than they look."

"Uh..." Hyde looked down at his knees, "so you'd spend all your time learning things?"

"Of course not. I'd also... I could travel! Oh, Red and I could see America!" She started to laugh. "We would finally be tourists. I'd buy him one of those Hawaiian shirts..."

"You'd get as far as Salt Lake City before waking up on Saturday again."

"You know what they should have next to Salt Lake City?" she said. "Pepper Lake City." A huge snort ripped out of her, and she was laughing again.

Hyde had finished the sandwich and his orange juice, and he slammed the empty glass on the table. "It would be hell, Mrs Forman. Having to wake up each day and have it be the same. Same conversations, same TV shows, same— _ _everything,__ man."

"Life is what you make it, Steven." She patted his leg and sighed. "You have only so much time on this planet—and some people don't have much time at all. Like this poor woman who was brought to the hospital today. Only twenty-nine. And her baby... not even born."

"Mrs. Hobart."

"Why, yes! How did you..." She covered her mouth, and her her eyes burst with tears. _"You're_ the 'kid who gave a damn'? You're the one who made it possible for..." She hugged him tightly. "Oh, my wonderful, wonderful Steven! You saved a life today."

"What the hell are you talking about? Mrs. Hobart's dead."

She loosened her grip and cupped the sides of his face. "Steven, my God... we spoke about you all day at work, only we didn't know it was you! I went with Mr. Hobart to the hospital's chapel a few hours after his wife and daughter passed away. And do you know what he said to me?"

"Mrs. Forman, it's okay. You don't have t—"

"He said he was crying out for help on the highway, and no one, __no one__ stopped for over twenty minutes. And then someone finally pulled over— _you."_ Her voice wavered, and she held both of Hyde's hands as if that would steady it. "He said you were like the archangel Michael fighting for his wife, that God had sent you to restore his faith."

Hyde pulled his hands away and crossed his arms. "His wife's still dead, his kid... I didn't do shit."

"Steven, if they had died in their car, Mr. Hobart would have found a way to kill himself. You saved that poor man's life."

"If 'God' had really wanted to restore the guy's 'faith,'" Hyde's voice was a growl, "he would've saved their damn lives."

"It sounds like someone else needs his faith restored," Mrs. Forman said.

"I didn't have any to begin with."

"If you had to do it over," she touched the tips of his fingers, the only part of his hand peeking out from his crossed arms, "would you help Mr. Hobart again?"

"Yeah..." And he __had__ done it over, repeatedly.

"If you'd just driven by, honey, that man would probably be with his wife and child right now."

"Maybe he'd be happier that way. If Jackie weren't here..." his throat tightened painfully, along with his stomach _,_ __"I__ wouldn't wanna be here."

"But, Steven, Jackie __is__ here. She's fine."

Hyde stood up and stalked toward the deep freeze. "There's no fucking reason I should get to have her when Mr. Hobart has to fucking live without his wife... for the rest of— _ _damn it!__ _"_ He propelled his fist into the basement's brick wall. The impact gave him no release, only heated his frustration into despair. "I can't do this, Mrs. Forman." He turned back to her but stared at the ceiling. "I can't fucking do this anymore."

Mrs. Forman rushed over to him and checked his hand. "Do what, honey? Do what?"

"Breathe."

_"Steven!"_ She pulled a bag of ice from the deep freeze and made him put his already-swelling knuckles on it. "I don't ever want to hear you say that again, do you hear me?" He tried to pull his hand away, but she wouldn't let him. "Your..." Her eyes shut. "Your not being here won't bring Mrs. Hobart back. Neither will your misery."

"Why should I get to be fucking happy, huh? Why me and not Mr. Hobart?"

"You don't know he won't find happiness again someday," Mrs. Forman said. "There's no way of knowing until it happens. But at least he has a chance now."

"Mrs. Hobart doesn't. Their kid—"

"It's not your fault, Steven. It's not." She dragged him back to the couch and guided him to sit. "We can't know what God's plan is. We're only human. But I believe, I __have__ to believe all is for the good. Even if we can't see it." She sat down next to him, put a comforting arm around his shoulders. "We just have these—these two little eyes, and they can see only what they can see. Sometimes we're blind until the light's right in front of our faces. You've seen Eric try to hold a flashlight."

Any other day Hyde would've laughed, but the humor didn't reach him today.

"Do you think Jackie deserves to be happy?" she said after a moment.

"Yes."

That girl, the look on her face just thinking you were sick... You really think she'd be happy if you weren't breathing? I don't."

"She deserves better than me." Hyde's knuckles were growing numb. He wanted the rest of him to do the same, but it would be pointless. An eternity of feeling nothing was just another kind of hell.

"Whatever you think of yourself, Steven, she loves you. And she wouldn't if you weren't good, and you're so _very good!"_ Mrs. Forman pulled him into another hug, and he cursed in pain. She'd accidentally mashed his hand into the bag of ice. "Oh, oh, I'm sorry, honey. We're going to have to get that X-rayed."

"Just wrap... whatever." He didn't care, about his hand or anything else. He was tired. Just... tired.

"Kitty," Red called from the stairs, "is that dumbass awake yet?"

Kitty turned around. "You shut up, Red Forman! Steven is a sweet and wonderful boy!" She faced Hyde again. "Please come to the hospital, honey. For me?"

He wanted to refuse, but he said, "Fine." The look in her eyes wouldn't let him say anything else.

* * *

Red drove Hyde and Mrs. Forman to the hospital in the Toyota—and Hyde's friends were waiting for them in the parking lot. "I called them while you were in the bathroom," Mrs. Forman said.

Hyde stepped out of the car, and Jackie hugged him warmly. "Hey," he said quietly. He wasn't unhappy to see her... or any of them.

* * *

Everyone rode the hospital's elevator to the second floor, where the radiology department was, and Mrs. Forman arranged it so Hyde could get his X-ray done in an hour. That meant they had 45 minutes to kill before he'd have to get prepped. They filed into the waiting area, and Hyde sat on a gray chair with Jackie in his lap. Thankfully, she hadn't left his side. Her presence was the only thing easing his damn mind.

Donna plunked down in the chair beside him. "You really cheered me up today," she said. Then she shook her head. "No, it was more than that. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't talked to me this morning."

Hyde sighed heavily. Mrs. Forman must have told 'em what he'd said in the basement.

"And I'm happier than I've ever been," Kelso said with a smile. "If you hadn't scared me, I wouldn't have called up the Department. Officer Kennedy. told me the Waster got caught today before he killed another girl! Do you know how many nightmares that guy gave me?" He opened his arms wide. "Tons! The Waster chopped seventeen chicks, Hyde. And now he's gonna be in jail forever! And I wouldn't have known that today unless you freaked me out. So thanks." He clapped Hyde on the shoulder and sat down across from him.

Fez dropped onto the chair next to Kelso. "Hyde, you haven't done anything for me today..."

__Finally.__ Hyde leaned his forehead into Jackie's temple. He'd had enough of this makeshift intervention.

"But you helped me grow accustomed to Amedican culture," Fez continued, and Hyde groaned. "You showed me my first dirty magazine, and you helped me get better at sex with your advice—because Kelso may be aesthetically beautiful, but he is a horrible lover."

" _ _Eww,__ _"_ Jackie said. "You and Michael...?"

Hyde had to smirk. "It was only a matter of time, man. When's the wedding?"

"Hey!" Kelso shouted. Everyone, including Hyde, was staring at him. "Me and Fez never—it's not my fault the chicks he gets don't like it Kelso-style."

"What we're getting at, Hyde," Donna said, "is we wouldn't be the same without you. If Eric were here, he'd be telling you the same thing." She slugged his shoulder lightly. "So knock it off with all this existential stuff, okay? Your life makes a difference, a big one."

As his friends continued to "intervene" at him, a thought crept up his spine like an icy hand and grasped the back of his skull. He hadn't saved Mrs. Hobart or her kid, but he'd saved that brunette's life—and maybe more—from the Waster. What if, by some small fucking chance, September 8th wasn't the cosmos punishing him but giving him a kick in the ass? He could go anywhere reachable in 23 hours and 59 minutes, get answers he couldn't otherwise get because the means were dangerous... or less than honorable. He could also make a shitload of mistakes—some of 'em deadly—and live to tell the damn tale.

Jackie looped her arms around the back of his neck and kissed him gently beneath the ear. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I understand now why you've been so distant." She hugged him tighter. "You deserve me, baby. You do. No one's ever been as good to me as you are, and—"

"Jackie..." His fingers threaded softly through her hair. Her capacity for kindness didn't surprise him; that she felt him worthy of it... still made no sense. "I've treated you like shit this last year."

"People mess up, Puddin'," she said. "You forgave me for Michael, right?"

"Yeah."

"And I forgive you for..." she inhaled a shallow breath, "for disappearing."

As she left another kiss below his ear, as the heat of her soaked into his chest, Hyde at last knew the answer to his question: What he wanted, what he really wanted was not to be miserable anymore.

* * *

Soon as Hyde got his hand X-rayed and splinted, James the Crisis Counselor accosted him. He insisted Hyde be hospitalized in the psych ward for a full evaluation—and "his own safety"—and Mrs. Forman agreed. So the rest of night 283 was spent in a hospital bed, being questioned by James the Douche and eating the hospital's bland food.

Hyde took the Zen approach to James's questions, answering either "Whatever" or "Doesn't matter." His unresponsiveness was seen as "troubling," but he had nothing to say. Just something to do, no matter how long it took him to do it.

The nurses eventually doped him up, which he was glad for. Thoughts of the task ahead—and the time it would take—were overwhelming. But as the drugs took hold, they pushed all thoughts away except one: Someday, he'd be able to give Jackie all _she_ wanted—because she deserved it, man.

She fucking deserved it.


	16. It's a Long, Long Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do” (C) ABBA; 1993 Polydor / Umgd. "Come In From The Rain" (C) The Captain and Tennille; 1977 A &M Records. _L'âme en fleur_ by Victor-Marie Hugo. _The Hobbit_ copyright J.R.R. Tolkien.

CHAPTER 16  
 **IT'S A LONG, LONG ROAD**

First thing Hyde did after he woke was roll onto his back and stretch. Day 284, man. Too many damn days calling the motel's dingy walls "home".

Second thing he did after he woke was call up Donna. He told her exactly what he'd told her last time: A choice between working it out with Forman—even if it took years—or never seeing him again. The question seemed to have done the trick yesterday, influenced her to go bowling instead of nailing Kelso or Fez. Kept her from acting out self-destructively.

"Hyde," she said, "I think you just blew my mind."

"That's what I'm here for, man."

"Are you coming home today?"

"Not sure yet." He grabbed the clock radio off the nightstand. It seemed less like a clock and more like a bomb whose timer kept counting up, not down. "Hey," he said into the phone, "could you tell Jackie I love her, and she's got nothin' to be forgiven for... Oh, and tell her, 'Shine, Grasshopper, shine.'"

"Um... sure," Donna said. "Are you baked right now?"

He smiled, though she couldn't see it. "Nope. Just wising up. I'll probably see ya by tomorrow."

They said their good-byes, and he hoped Donna would do what he asked. The "Grasshopper" part was so Jackie would know he was the one giving the message—and not something Donna was making up to make her feel better. He had no clue when he'd be seeing her again, but Jackie suffering 'cause she didn't know how he felt? That shit couldn't happen anymore.

Third thing Hyde did after he woke was call the Point Place P.D. about the Waster. No more chicks were gonna suffer because of that psycho—that shit wouldn't happen anymore, either.

10:00 A.M.

After Hyde helped the Hobarts and ate a quick breakfast, he was at Mount Hump Stables, scheduling his second "first" horseback riding lesson. The original lesson had been a bust mostly 'cause of his fucked-up shoulder—and getting that bitch horse, Caraway. This time, he requested the horse Donna had ridden, Paint.

"The high one," he said, and the receptionist laughed.

Inside the riding arena, Debbie the instructor brought Paint to him. "Is this your first time riding?" she said, and he nodded.

She helped him mount the horse like the last time, but the process was a whole lot easier. For starters, he already had some idea how to do it. He wasn't in any pain, and Paint actually stood still while he got into the saddle.

"Very nice, Steven," she said. Her light brown hair was kept in a loose braid, and she tossed it from her shoulder. "You're gonna be a natural."

"Right." He grasped the reins and suppressed a chuckle. Debbie had no memory of the last time he'd been on a horse, so she wasn't holding it against him.

But the lesson did go more smoothly than the last time. He was able to direct Paint from point A to point B without being bucked. It really was almost like driving a car; Donna had been right. Kicking the horse's sides started it up. The reins were like a steering wheel and a brake. Maybe all he'd needed was a horse that fit his personality better.

The hour consisted of slow circles and zigzags around the arena. But it let him grow comfortable with the horse—let alone being on a horse. Afterward, he walked on shaky legs to the reception area, and Debbie said, "Not bad for your first lesson. If you stick with it, I'm sure you'll be cantering in no time. _"_

12:28 P.M.

Hyde drove to the pizza place across from Grooves for lunch. People were looking at him strangely as he stood in line for his slices. He scowled back, but his shades probably didn't let any of 'em see it. He ate his pizza fast at a table in the back. Then he he headed for his store.

It had been almost a year since he'd been inside Grooves or worked. He missed the place—and even missed working a little, not that he'd admit it to anyone.

Leo was at the register arguing with a woman over a Rolling Stones album. "No!" the woman shouted. "I want to know if you have __Some Girls__ _._ _ _SOME Girls.__ _"_

"I keep tellin' you, man," Leo said, "we don't have any girls here."

Hyde grabbed the album she wanted from the "R" crate then lightly touched her shoulder. "Yeah, we got it."

"Thank..." she turned to him and wrinkled her nose, "you."

"Ring this up for her, man," he said and handed Leo the record. He was glad Leo's face was no longer melted off. Just like Grooves, he hadn't seen Leo since that freaky-as-hell acid trip—and he gave his old friend a hug after the woman paid and left

Leo laughed. "You smell like horseshit, man."

"Hell..." Hyde sniffed at himself. He did kind of stink. "I was horseback riding."

"Oh, I like that position," Leo said. "The women do most of the wo—"

"No, on a __horse.__ _"_

"Whoa, man..." Leo looked him up and down, "I didn't know you were into that kinda stuff."

Hyde smiled and patted him on the back.

__And that,__ he thought, __was another reason never to drop acid again.  
__

* * *

Hyde hung out with Leo for no longer than ten minutes. He wanted to get back to the Formans' to wash the horse-stink off. But before he left, he confessed to Leo about his time-loop.

"Wow, man, that sounds just like my life," Leo said; then he grinned. "It's been a good life, too, man. I've lived some pretty sweet days over."

Hyde chuckled. Even if he were to reach tomorrow after tonight, Leo probably wouldn't remember their conversation anyway.

12:57 P.M.

No one was home when Hyde got to the Formans'. His friends were probably at The Hub, making plans to go bowling. He wished he could join them.

2:42 P.M.

Hyde was sitting in Mrs. Trevor's office at the University of Wisconsin-Parkside. She'd taken his five-hundred bucks, cleared her schedule and her desk—and her hands were holding up a small, portable chalkboard with the French verb _être,_ "to be," written on it.

" _Répétez_ , _s'il vous plaît,_ _"_ Mrs. Trevor said, and Hyde stared blankly at her. She translated: "Please repeat."

He'd already tried reading the conjugation three times and totally blew it. The only language besides English he even halfway knew was Spanish, and he kept pronouncing the French as if he were a botard with a crappy Spanish accent.

"Juh sweeze, too ess, eel ess—"

" _Non, Monsieur Hyde,_ " she tapped the chalkboard with her chalk. "The last 's' is silent unless the following word starts with a vowel."

He glared at her. "Then why the hell is there an 's' in the damn word?"

"Because of sound changes. French evolved from Latin, you see, and—"

"Forget it." He took a deep, calming breath. This felt like school, and he'd hated school. Graduating had been the best thing about it. But the only way he was graduating from this class was by becoming fluent in French—if it were even freakin' possible.

He'd bought Mrs. Trevor for two hours, but after one, his mind was __le saturated__ and his mouth was __le__ _ _dry.__ So he skipped out.

Next on his list of places to go: The Kenosha Public Library. The wizened old librarian with the huge glasses knew—without checking the library catalog—exactly where Hyde could find the book he wanted, Tolkien's _The Hobbit._

He sat down with the book at a small table hidden deep within the library's aisles. Forman always yapped about this book and _The Lord of the Rings._ "It's only the most important book series written in the history of time," he'd said once.

"More important than the Bible?" Hyde said back, not that he thought much of the Bible anyway.

Forman nodded. "Why, yes. Yes, it is."

Now, in the library, Hyde was staring at _The Hobbit's_ cover. To their friends, Forman had been gone only a day. To Hyde, it was over nine months. He missed the hell out of him.

Without another thought, he flipped to the title page of the book: __

_The Hobbit_   
_or_

_There and Back Again_

"Huh." He flipped through a few more pages, past a couple of maps, "Of course this damn book would have maps... Freakin' Forman," and finally to the first page of the first chapter:

_"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit."_

"In a hole of a chick there lived a Kelso..." Hyde said to himself but kept reading, and the next paragraph droned on and on about what was inside the hole. Forman, what the hell? he thought but made himself read more.

An hour later, he had to be politely "kicked out" of the library. It was closing time, but the damn book had sucked him in. He'd made it to the part about moon letters, but now he had to force himself to quit reading. The wizened librarian seemed to take pity on him, though. She swiftly got him a library card, stamped _The Hobbit's_ own library card with her red date stamp, and told him "Good reading" before showing him the door.

5:23 P.M.

Hyde went to the Birch Road Café, down the street from the Shooting Star Motel. He'd gotten used to the place's odor of burnt bacon months ago, and he continued to read _The Hobbit_ while he ate a hamburger... couldn't put the damn book down. Then he spoke to Warren, the concierge on duty at the motel, and got his room back. Driving home to Point Place would take too long. He wanted—almost needed—to get back to Bilbo and those dwarves.

It took him until 1:48 A.M. to finish the book. His shoulders hurt from lying in the motel's bed so long, but the pain was worth it, man. He'd been stuck in September 8th for so long, and he hadn't read much except magazines. _The Hobbit_ had brought him to a completely different place, and _anything_ different at this point was good. Finishing that book made him realize just how bored he'd been.

Hyde slid under the bed sheets after a final leak in the bathroom. This day hadn't been half-bad. Only thing missing from it were his friends and Jackie. But he couldn't see them, not yet.

**DAY 288**

The last three days had been pretty good. Hyde's mornings were spent taking horseback riding lessons from Debbie. He kinda learned French from Mrs. Trevor in the afternoons, and in the evenings he stayed at the Shooting Star Motel and read Tolkien's _Fellowship of the Rings._

Now he was riding Paint around the arena of Mt. Hump Stables. Fifteen minutes of slow circles and zigzags, and he was ready for more. He'd had three days of it already.

"So how's this thing go faster?" he said, though he wasn't sure his toasted horse could go any faster. _  
_

"Before you can trot, Steven, you have to learn how to post," Debbie said. She directed him to the outer ring of the arena where Paint could move freely without walking into any other horses. "You're gonna raise your butt out of the saddle and stand up a little in the stirrups—kind of the way Bruce Lee looks before he's about to attack."

Hyde stood on wobbly legs and grabbed onto the saddle's pommel.

Debbie shook her head. "No, don't use your hands for balance."

"Uh... okay." He slowly let go of the pommel and felt like he was going to fall.

"Tense up your thighs, " she said, "but don't squeeze the horse. Yeah... you've got it."

Paint was still walking forward, and Hyde felt like an idiot. "Now what?" He wanted to hold the pommel again but forced himself to remain steady. Quitting like he normally would've done—like he had his first lesson—was pointless. He had to learn this crap...

So he would.

"Now you're going to sit back in the saddle," Debbie said.

"Cool." He sat down and relaxed.

"Now stand back up."

"What?"

"When horses go into a trot, they have a certain rhythm to their gate." She traced a series of lowercase "m"s in the air. "If you post during it, you'll have a smoother ride."

He stared at her. "So you're saying I gotta go up-and-down while the horse jogs?"

"You can just sit in the saddle and get your ass bumped if you want. But we don't give free ice for the butt-bruises you'll have later."

"Up-and-down it is," he said and raised himself off the saddle again.

"Now down," she said. He sat down. "Up." He went up. "Down." He sat down.

He started to get the hang of it after a few minutes. He felt more sure on his feet, less inclined to grab the pommel for support.

"All right, I think you're ready for your first trot," Debbie said cheerfully. "Just tap the horse with your heels and make this sound—" She clicked her tongue repeatedly.

"Yeah, I'm not doing the sound." He kicked the horse lightly, but Paint kept plodding along. "Damn it..." __Click-click-click.__

Paint began to speed up, and Hyde momentarily lost his balance.

"Up!" Debbie said.

He tensed his legs, lifted his butt out of the saddle. Then he sat back down. Pushed back up, sat down... He soon caught the rhythm of the horse, like a steady drum beat, and it didn't feel half-bad. The motion kind of reminded him of sex, and it made him smirk. No wonder Jackie's first orgasm had been on a horse.

Hyde spent the next half-hour both trotting and walking Paint around the arena. By the end of the lesson, his legs were tired and sore, but he felt... accomplished. Debbie held onto the reins while he dismounted. "Huh," he said once his feet hit the dirt floor, "didn't think I'd learn so fast."

"You did pretty well today, but you've got plenty to go. You held the reins too loosely, tapped the horse a little too hard. Your turns and posting could definitely use improvement—"

"Crap." He took off the black riding helmet and ran a hand through his matted-down hair. He should've known how to hold the damn reins after four lessons.

"Don't be hard on yourself, Steven." She passed Paint off to the stable girl, who led the horse away up a ramp. Then Debbie went with him to the reception area. "You'll get it in time. I've seen people who give up after five minutes—sometimes because they're thrown off the horse. The important thing is to get back on and keep at it."

3:03 P.M.

Hyde was in the middle of his French lesson at the university. He'd finally gotten the silent "s"-thing and could conjugate the verbs _être_ , "to be," and _avoir,_ "to have," pretty well. Mrs. Trevor started teaching him basic vocabulary, and soon he was saying things in French like, "I am very smart" and "I have a notebook."

Later, he borrowed both _Fellowship of the Ring_ and _The Two Towers_ from the library 'cause he knew he'd finish the first one. It really was like going to another place, and reading made him feel better than he had in a long time—so much so that a few chapters into the second book, around midnight, he picked up the phone and began to dial the Burkhart Mansion. But he hung up four numbers into dialing. Hearing Jackie's voice would make him want to drive over there and be with her. He couldn't afford to do that yet.

**NIGHT 299**

Hyde had finished the whole _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy. The book series was a little rambling but also bad-freakin'-ass. Next time he spoke to Forman—if they ever got to talk again—he'd apologize for burning him about it. ****

**DAY 313**

A month since he kicked off his plan, he'd gotten pretty good at trotting with the horse. French, on the other hand, still frustrated him. He understood the words when he read them, didn't do too badly on the practice tests Mrs. Trevor gave him. But it was speaking he was most interested in, and the part he had the most trouble with.

Nights were both the best and hardest part of the day. Reading books had become a sanctuary from boredom... and from the ache that settled over his chest and underneath his arms. It was the space Jackie used to occupy, the space where she belonged. He hadn't seen her in over thirty days. ****

**MORNING 332** __

_"I do, I do, I do, I do, I do."_

Hyde didn't, didn't, didn't, didn't, didn't want to get out of bed.

__"_ Oh, I've been dreaming through my lonely past,_ _ _"__ Agnetha and Frida sang _,_ _ _"_ Now I just made it. I found you at last._ _ _"__

He turned on his side, away from the clock radio, and kept his eyes shut. The road ahead was too fucking long, man.

__"_ So come on. Now let's try it,_ _ _"__ the song continued. __"_ I love you, can't deny it 'cause it's true._ _ _"__

"Damn it..." He forced himself to sit up on the edge of the bed.

__"_ Oh, no hard feelings between you and me—_ _ _"__ ABBA kept pushing at him, and he bent over his knees and covered his head, __"_ if we can't make it, but just wait and see._ _ _"__

He didn't want want to go horseback riding or _parlez-vous-ing Français._ He just wanted to stay in bed all day or maybe for a week... or two. It had been over six weeks since he'd seen anyone he gave a shit about. During his bender at the beginning of this time-trap, he'd managed to go without seeing them for months. Something had changed.

Maybe it was him.

__"_ So love me or leave me. Make your choice, but believe me,_ _ _"__ the song bitched, _ _"_ I love you. I do, I do, I do, I do, I do._ _ _"  
__  
"Shut the hell up!" He went to the clock radio, ripped it out of the wall socket, but thought better of smashing it against the wall. If he wanted to come back here tonight, he had to play nice.

8:03 A.M.

Hyde called Donna as part of his morning routine. The conversation went as usual, but this time toward the end he said, "Hey, you wanna meet me at Mt. Hump stables around 9:45 AM and go riding? I'll pay."

"Come on..." Donna said, and he could hear her smile over the phone, "you're baked."

"No, man. I'm serious. So you wanna go?"

She laughed. "Sure. Why not?"

She did meet him there, and first thing he did was pull her into a hug. He'd tried to control himself, but he freakin' needed one. The hug didn't feel strange, either. Sleeping with her hadn't screwed up his ability to touch her in friendship, didn't make him feel awkward or uncomfortable. They were still cool, and it was a relief.

"Hyde, are you okay?" She was patting his back.

"Yeah," he said and let her go. "Just been a while."

In the stables' reception area, he scheduled an outdoor lesson for both of them—his first. Debbie led them into the park on a black horse named Midnight. Donna was riding behind her on Caraway, and Hyde was behind Donna on Paint. She seemed able to handle that bitch horse better than he had.

They rode through the trees, trotted past a creek. The blue sky was clear and wide above them, and Hyde let it reach him.

After the lesson, he and Donna walked together toward the Prairie Café _,_ less than half a mile from the stables. "That was really fun, Hyde," she said. "Thanks for inviting me." Then she sniffed at her shirt and made a face. "But I need a shower. _"_

"Don't think the waitresses will care. They're used to it."

"Okay..." she stopped him in the middle of the dirt road and stared at him, "when did you learn how to ride a horse? Did your mom get so drunk one day, she brought you over here and signed you up for lessons?"

"Nope." He smirked at her. "I'm a natural."

They reached the café, got a booth—the same booth he'd eaten at dozens of times. Donna had the same trouble with the menu as she did before, 53 days ago. She kept flipping from one page to another, then back again.

"This thing is freakin' huge!" she said. "The words are beginning to look like gibberish to me."

Hyde drummed his fingers on the table. "They got good burgers and hot dogs. The barbecue chicken's decent. Don't go for eggs, tasteless."

"You've eaten here before?" She was staring at him again. "Since when?"

"Uh... Jackie made me," he lied. "Made me take horseback riding lessons, too."

Her face relaxed. He'd satisfied her curiosity, apparently, and she went back to looking through the menu. The waitress took their order a few minutes later. Donna ended up going for a hot dog and fries, same as him.

"You really love her, don't you?" Donna said. "I mean, if you got on a horse—and more than once, obviously—you must have really wanted to make her happy. Did you take ballroom dancing lessons, too?"

Hyde was the one who stared now, blankly at the the lasso on the wall. "Crap. Do I have to take—" His eyes shut. "Crap!" He couldn't do it, learn anything more. It would mean spending even more time away. He wasn't gonna dance on that hill bathed in sunlight anyhow, so it would be a wasted effort.

"What?" Donna began to laugh.

"Nothing, man. Whatever. I read _Lord of the Rings._ _"_

"What?" she repeated, and he arched an eyebrow at her.

After their food arrived, Hyde told Donna about how Éowyn in _Lord of the Rings_ reminded him of her—especially now that she smelled like horse. That earned him a French fry chucked at his face. He also told her about Lloyd Alexander's _Prydain Chronicles,_ which he'd read next.

"Oh, my God. You sound like Eric," she said. "Are you gonna start spouting __Star Wars__ references all the time now?"

He was smiling. He felt okay again, __was__ okay. But staying away from his friends had been a tactical error.

"Oh, God," she leaned her head back, "you are. You're gonna be quoting Han Solo."

"Yeah, I don't think so. Though the Camino did make it from Kenosha to Point Place in less than twelve parsecs."

She threw another French fry at him. "Shut up."

* * *

Hyde didn't have to drive Donna back to her house 'cause she'd taken the Vista Cruiser to meet him. The 'Cruiser was the go-to car for everyone, it seemed, now that Forman was gone.

Hyde showered at the Formans' around one o'clock. Too late to hit his bank. This was the first day since he'd started sending Sam money that he purposely chose not to. It was a pointless exercise as long as he was stuck in September 8th. But if he ever did get to tomorrow, he was gonna help her out—same as she'd helped him.

He made it to the University of Wisconsin-Parkside a little before two o'clock and started his French lesson. To him, it was his thirty-eighth—he allowed himself one day off a-week. But to Mrs. Trevor, this was the first time they'd met.

__"_ Je voudrais un verre de l'eau, __"_ he said halfway into the lesson.

__"_ Très bien,_ _ _"__ she said back. "Your accent is better than you let on, Monsieur Hyde. __Mais v__ _ous devez commencer à penser en français."_

"How the hell am I supposed to do that? I've got enough trouble thinking in English."

She smiled. "You just did.

"Huh?"

"You responded to me in English," she said, "but what I'd said to you was in French."

His eyes narrowed. "No way."

__"O__ _ui._ I'd said, 'You must start to think in French,' but I'd said it in _French,_ Monsieur Hyde."

_"_ _Très c ool..._ _"  
_

* * *

That evening, Hyde decided to eat at the Formans'. He parked the Camino a few streets over and avoided the basement, in case Jackie was around. He couldn't risk seeing her because seeing her would make him want to stay with her. But he had to keep going forward, to finally earn her—and, hopefully, _tomorrow_ —back.

She wasn't at the house, though. Neither were any of his friends, and Mrs. Forman was overjoyed to see him at her dinner table. She hugged him from behind for what felt like five minutes until Red said, "Let the boy eat, Kitty. You can smother him later." But Hyde didn't mind. He'd missed her, too, and pressed his lips to back of her hand.

A huge snort ripped from her, and she gushed, "At least I have one son left, the one who knows how to kiss his mother."

Red rolled his eyes. "Kitty..."

Hyde smiled inwardly. Being here after so long was nice. He'd make sure to come home more often. ****

_**DAY 1017** _

Hyde had stuck to his routine the last ninety-eight weeks: Riding in the morning, French lesson in the afternoon, reading in the evening. But some late mornings he played basketball in Formans' driveway with Donna, Kelso, and Fez just before Jackie would show up. Sometimes he hung out at Grooves or at Red's muffler shop. Some nights he had dinner with the Formans—or at W.B.'s—or at the Pinciottis' with Donna and Bob. And sometimes he even slept in his room in the basement.

Those nights, he took out the many pictures he had of Jackie—'cause her birthday and Christmas presents to him always included a photo of her—and jerked off to them. Masturbation was the only thing that cut through the pain of missing her, at least for a little while.

But the pictures he had of them __together__ he'd looked at only once. Few of them existed. Usually he'd cover the camera lens or block his face when Jackie had someone take a picture. Sometimes he flipped the bird.

The only good pictures of them together were when he didn't know they were being taken. He had one of him and Jackie laughing. They were at The Hub, and a half-eaten potato chip was clutched in her fingers. Another picture showed them lying in the grass together—after having smoked some grass. She was using his stomach as a pillow while her eyes gazed at the sky. His hand held hers loosely, and his lips smiled in a tranquil daze.

Their lack of pictures together pissed him off. He'd been so fuckin' stingy with her. __Give Jackie a finger,__ he used to think, __and she'll take your hand, punch you in the face with it.__ Sometimes that had been true, but mostly she gave back her damn heart.

Ninety-eight weeks, and the repetition of activity had become a little numbing. The days blended into each other, and a few mornings he'd panicked that he lost count. The day-count was an anchor, kept him from feeling like he was floating in endless space.

He'd learned how to gallop on Paint eight months ago. Two months after that, he switched to riding Caraway. The horse was a lot like Jackie—just needed to know how to read its body language. And Caraway used to be a show jumper. Hyde could jump a crossrail with it and some of the lower vertical fences.

A year ago, Mrs. Trevor had begun conducting his lessons completely in French. Half-a-year ago, he began to borrow books from the library written in French. He started with Sartre's play _Huis Clos—_ _ _No Exit.__ But to Hyde, Hell wasn't other people. It was September 8th, 1979.

He could also recite the Hugo poem in French entirely from memory. Sixty-seven afternoons before today, he'd recited it for Mrs. Trevor. Her eyes had welled, her hands covered her heart, and she said in French, _"I love that poem."_ He then asked her, also in French, about his accent and intonation. " _Ils étaient très bons,"_ she said, which meant, "They were very good."

**MORNING 1018**

Hyde woke up overwhelmed. He'd finally accomplished the first part of what he'd set out to do. But instead of putting the second part into effect, he continued his routine—riding in the morning, French lesson in the afternoon. Jackie hadn't seen him in a little over ten hours, but for him it had been almost two years. He had no idea how he'd feel when he finally saw her, spoke to her, _touched_ her.

He was playing chicken; he knew it. And the next day, he played chicken again. But on day 1020, he figured out what to do.

He was going to conduct a test.


	17. Dry Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. _L'âme en fleur_ by Victor-Marie Hugo.

CHAPTER 17  
 **DRY RUN**

On morning 1020, Hyde had woken with his "return home" test fully-formed in his mind. After his riding lesson and lunch, he went to the Formans'—to Forman's bedroom and took a striped, oversized shirt from the closet. He also grabbed Forman's White Sox cap. Then, once he'd showered, he dressed in them.

By 2:23 P.M., he was at the bowling alley, walking behind the lanes. He'd left his shades in the Camino, and the brim of Forman's cap was pushed over his eyebrows. He didn't want his friends to recognize him, but he spotted them in lane 19. They'd just started their game, apparently, and all seemed to be in a good mood except for Jackie. She was sitting on a red plastic chair, knees pulled underneath her chin. The sadness in her face dug into Hyde's chest and raked at his heart. He had to get the hell outta here.

He turned—and crashed into some jackass with a tray of pop and chicken fingers. The food flew everywhere; the pop spilled onto Hyde's shirt. Worse, the jackass didn't seem to know what to do and stood stone-still. Hyde shoved him out of the way.

"Eric?"

__Crap.__ Donna had spotted him. He wanted to run, but he couldn't do that to her. He pulled off the White Sox cap.

_"Hyde?_ What the hell?" She maneuvered between racks of bowling balls to get to him. "Why are you wearing Eric's clothes?" She wrapped her fists in his shirt. "Why?"

"I know!" Fez said and put his pink bowling ball down on the ball return. "He is cross-dressing."

"Burn!" Kelso said.

Hyde nodded at the burn. Dressing like Forman was pretty much the same thing as dressing like a girl. It was also a stupid move. "Donna, man, I—"

Her fists tightened on the shirt, "What's your freakin' problem?" and yanked him closer.

"Donna—Donna, stop it!" Jackie shouted. She ran up to them and tried to get between. "Just because your boyfriend left you doesn't mean you can kill mine!"

Donna grunted and let go of him. Jackie immediately filled the space. She slipped her arms around his waist, and his need for her shot into his body like electricity. It flowed from where she held him into all his nerves and muscles.

"Steven?" Jackie said. Her eyes were searching him. He had no idea what expression was on his face, but he must have looked like an idiot. "Why __are__ you wearing Eric's clothes?"

"Um, well..." His hands slid up her arms gingerly, but even that contact was too much. A groan pushed out of his throat. He turned it into a cough.

Kelso gasped. "Jackie, seeing me and you about to do it made him..." He twirled a finger around his temple.

"Shut up, Michael!" She hugged Hyde closer, ignoring the spilled pop on his shirt. Her cheek pressed into his heart, her lower half inadvertently rubbed up against him—and drove his senses into overdrive. His body had been deprived of her too long. She smelled like violets, a light scent but enough to remind him of a night many years ago when her bare legs were wrapped around his hips... and his hand cupped the back of her head, cushioning it from a hard wall... and her breath was hot against his ear...

"Shit." He shut his eyes and tightened his grip on her shoulders. "I gotta get the fuck outta here." Then he gently pushed her off and backed away.

"Where?" she said.

"Bathroom."

"Are you sick"

"Yeah!" He ran to the men's room and locked himself inside a stall.

Five minutes later, he'd jerked himself off and was releasing into his hand. Two years of not touching her, of not breathing her in... he should've known better. He leaned his back against the stall door and tried to figure out his next move.

"Hyde?" Fez said outside the stall.

"Yeah, man."

"They sent me in here to check on you. Are you feeling better?"

"Kinda." Hyde yanked a bunch of toilet paper off the roll and cleaned himself off.

"When I run into the bathroom," Fez said, "it is usually because I have needs."

Hyde could finally relate. But his needs included __not__ having needs around Jackie. "I'm fine," he said and flushed the toilet for effect. "I'll be out in a damn minute."

"Good." Fez drummed his fingers on the stall door. "Because we want you to bowl with us. Even Donna. But she wants you to take off Eric's shirt."

"What the hell does she expect me to wear?"

Something soft hit Hyde's face in response, an oversized black t-shirt with the bowling alley's logo on it. He pulled off Forman's pop-stained shirt and put on the fresh one. Then he tossed Forman's shirt over the stall. "Give this to her as a peace-offering," he said.

"Roger will go, little buddy," Fez said, and his footsteps echoed on the floor tiles.

"It's 'roger willc—'" Hyde shook his head. "Never mind."

He finished up in the stall, washed his hands, and returned to lane 19. Everyone was waiting for him, but Jackie approached him hesitantly.

"I made you throw up, didn't I?" she said.

He smiled at her. "No."

"Oh, Steven!" She flung her arms around him again, and this time it was easier for him to hold her. "What Donna told me this morning is true... You've forgiven me?" Her lips left soft kisses on his ear, his neck.

He held her tighter and spoke into her hair. _" _Rien à pardonner.__ _"_ Nothing to forgive.

Several minutes later, he was wearing a pair of bowling shoes and sitting on one of the plastic chairs—with Jackie in his lap. He kept his fingers locked around her waist. Being with her now was no trouble, but not just 'cause of his bathroom-retreat. She hadn't mentioned Chicago or asked if he was going to propose. Sometimes she leaned her head back to look at him, but mainly she seemed focused on the game.

Something had changed.

But as good as it felt to have Jackie in his arms, he really didn't want to be here. It wasn't right, man. Not yet. He hadn't earned it. But he wouldn't just up and leave. Hurting her was out of the damn question.

Donna picked up the spare on a 2-7 split. She turned around to Kelso and gave him a high-five—and Kelso slapped her ass right after.

"Michael!" Jackie shouted.

Fez stared at Kelso accusingly. "Why do you not slap my ass after I get a spare?"

But Donna walked up to where Hyde was sitting and waved Forman's shirt in front of his face. "You gonna tell me why you were wearing this now?"

"He was wearing Eric's hat, too," Fez said and pointed to his own head. The White Sox cap was now sitting on it.

Donna was waiting for an answer. Hyde had no good lie handy, so he went with the truth. "Wanted to come here without being spotted."

"Why?" she said.

Jackie groaned. "Can you ask him later? It's Steven's turn." She got off his lap and squeezed his hand. "Get a strike, baby."

Suspicion scrabbled up the back of his skull as he went to grab his bowling ball. Jackie was acting like nothing had happened between them. He didn't buy it. But instead of questioning her, he lined up his shot.

"Gutterball!" Kelso shouted.

"Damn it." Hyde hooked his throw completely to the left. But he managed to get seven pins on his second.

He did worse his next few frames. His mind was nowhere near the game. Kelso and Fez seemed to love it, burning him every time he got less than six pins, and Donna used his down-time to bombard him with theories about Forman's shirt.

"You wanted to play a joke on us? Like, Eric hadn't left for Africa or something?" she said.

"Nope."

"Spy on us?"

"Closer," he said.

"Spy on __Jackie?__ _"_ Donna said.

"My God," Jackie said. "Would you stop sabotaging him and let him enjoy the game? He hasn't gotten one strike."

Donna wrung Forman's shirt into a twisted rope. "I'm not trying to sabotage him. He really pissed me off wearing this."

"Donna, I'm sorry, okay?" Hyde said. "I was being a dumbass."

"Are you trying to make it worse?" She whipped the shirt at him but hit Jackie's arm instead.

"Watch it!" Jackie grabbed the shirt.

Donna yanked it back, pulling Jackie out of Hyde's lap.

"Yeah, this crap's not gonna happen," he said and grasped Donna's wrist. "Let's go."

"Hyde—"

He pulled her toward the exit. "I'll tell ya everything. Keep walking." Then he glanced behind him. "Jackie, meet me in the basement by five."

"What about about the shoes?" Donna said. "We can't just leave with them."

"Always wanted to know what would happen if I did. Let's find out."

* * *

Hyde had "escorted" Donna to the Camino, and she got in without argument. But driving with the bowling shoes was dicey. Their soles were slippery, and his foot kept sliding off the gas pedal. He pulled over to the curb on West Ridge Avenue and took off the shoes. His socks, too.

"You __were__ spying on Jackie, weren't you?" Donna said.

"Yeah." He hit the gas with his bare foot. Man, did he feel like a hick. "How'd she react this morning when you told her... what I told you to tell her?" __Great.__ Now he sounded like a hick, too.

"She got super-mad and called me a liar. But then I said that weird thing, 'Shine, Grasshopper, shine,' and she cried all over me like a baby." Donna pinched his shoulder lightly. "That's really cute you call her that."

Hyde drove the Camino onto Mulberry Boulevard. "What else?"

"Uh-uh. You tell me why you were spying on her first."

"Wasn't sure how I'd feel seeing her after, uh... Chicago. Wanted a test-run."

"But I thought you were over it," Donna said.

"I am, man. It's kinda complicated. So, what else did she do?"

"Let's see. Oh, Jackie wiped her snotty nose on my shirt."

He scowled. "Come on, Donna."

"Wow, you're really serious." She was laughing.

"Like Red's heart attack," he said and watched Donna's reflection in the rearview mirror as she tapped her chin.

"Okay," she said, "Jackie said something like..." she shifted into her Jackie-voice, "'Oh, my God, Donna! That's the first time he's called me that in almost a year! Maybe finding me with Michael woke him up or something.' Then she asked me when you were coming home, and I said what you'd said, 'Probably tomorrow,' and then she got all mopey."

"Huh." Hyde concentrated on the road. __Woke him up...__ _  
_

4:51 P.M.

Jackie's eyes widened the moment Hyde stepped inside Forman's basement. She was alone and standing by the couch. The chessboard was set up on the spool table. His boots were by her feet.

He walked over to her. "Hey."

"Thank God," she said and took him in her arms. "I thought you wouldn't sh—did you take care of stupid Donna?"

"She's __not__ stupid, man. That's one of her problems—and, yeah. She finally shut up about the damn shirt."

"Good." She kissed him lightly on the lips. Then she directed him to sit in his chair. He didn't know why she wanted him there, but he sat down. "We had to pay for your bowling shoes," she said and passed him his boots.

He kicked off the shoes. "So __that's__ what happens when you leave the alley with 'em: Your friends get stuck with the bill." He left his boots off. Socks were plenty right now, considering he'd driven barefoot. "Whatever it cost, I'll pay you back."

But he wouldn't have to, not unless today "took," and he very much doubted it would.

Jackie was sitting on the couch now, and she waved her hand over the chessboard as if it were a prize on a game show. _" _I__ will be white because I always get to go first."

"You wanna play chess?" He narrowed his eyes. He __really__ didn't get it—or her. Had he been gone that long?

"We can talk about everything later," she said. "Let's just have some fun, okay?" She moved her "E" pawn forward to "E4"— the classic King's Pawn opening.

He decided to go with the Sicilian Defense and slid his "C" pawn up two spaces. "What's your deal, huh? Why the hell aren't you freaking out about what happened last night?"

"Last night doesn't matter now that you're with me," she said and put her "D" pawn beside her "E" pawn. "This has been a horrible year, Steven. __Horrible.__ _"_

He hooked his shades on the collar of his shirt. "Can't argue with that."

"I've just..." She lowered her gaze to the chessboard. "I've missed you so much. It feels like you've been gone, completely gone, this last year _ _."__

"Yeah, I know." He got up from the chair, went to the couch. Jackie nestled into his side, and the warmth of her reminded him of the hollow ache he'd carried for so many months. "I'm sorry." He put his arm around her shoulders, drew her more tightly against him. _"Je suis très désolé. Je vous ai manqué, aussi."_

She pulled away. "What?"

He smiled and studied her face. It was more damn beautiful than even two years ago. "I missed you, too, doll."

"Oh." She relaxed into him again. "Was that French?"

"Yup. Heard it on TV."

They were silent for a while, just sitting together on the couch, and Jackie's quiet breathing filled his senses. How many nights had he imagined it tickling his neck? Or remembered the the rise and fall of her chest over his heart? Too many days gone by without her. Too many to come if he didn't figure out what the cosmos wanted from him—if it wanted anything at all.

"It feels like more than a year," Jackie muttered. "It feels like..." Her fingers gripped his shirt, and she looked up at him. "Steven, we made love just a few days ago, but it feels like so much longer."

"It was," he said. "I, uh... I haven't really been with you for a while."

She nodded as if she understood, probably thought he meant mentally or emotionally. But what if she'd felt his absence physically, too, as if each September 8th, 1979 without him registered on some deep, unconscious level? The idea made all his muscles tense. If he stayed away longer, would she feel it? Would it gnaw at her insides like a rat until there was nothing left?

"Why aren't you kissing me, Steven?" She'd climbed onto his lap, straddling him, and her lips were inches from his mouth. He'd completely zoned out. "You haven't kissed me at all today."

He pushed lightly on her shoulders to keep her just where she was. "You gotta wait one more day."

She leaned into his hands, still trying to reach his lips. "Why?"

"'Cause I was too much of a damn pussy to go through with it."

"Go through with what?"

"Jackie..." He began to shake a little. "Jackie, I'm... __Fuck.__ _"_ His breath thinned and left his throat barren.

"Steven?" She quit leaning into his hands and cupped his face. "What is it, baby?"

His shakes grew worse. He wanted to clam up, tell her nothing. But the concerned look in her eyes cracked him open like an eggshell. "I'm scared, okay? I'm really fucking scared, man. I don't know what the hell I'm gonna do if it doesn't work."

"Now you're scaring __me,__ _"_ she said. "If _what_ doesn't work?"

"I'm gonna propose to you tomorrow."

"Oh, my God." Jackie's hands slipped from his face to his shoulders. "Oh, my God!" She pulled him tightly into a hug. "OH, MY GOD!"

"I don't know if it'll be enough."

"OF COURSE IT'LL BE ENOUGH!"

He winced at the volume of her voice. "Ow..."

"Oh!" She kissed his ear gently and whispered, "I'm sorry, Puddin'. Of course it'll be enough." Then she looked at him. "What're you gonna do?"

"Um..." His hands were resting on her lower back, and he laced his fingers together... more to keep from shaking than anything else. "Figured we'd go horseback riding in the park— _"_

"I'll love that!"

"—then we'd have a picnic at the top of Mt. Hump—"

She gasped. "With the sun all golden?" She was playing with the curls at the nape of his neck, and he found it soothing.

"Yeah... and then I'd recite you some poetry, like, ' _ _Mon bras pressait ta taille frêle, et souple comme le roseau; ton sein palp—'__ _"_

He couldn't say anymore. Jackie had seized his mouth with an intense kiss, gliding her tongue past his already open lips. He didn't fight it, but she only gave him a taste before pulling away.

"Sorry," she said. "Go on."

He laughed. "French kiss, huh?"

She was smiling but her eyes urged him to continue.

"Then I'd get down on one knee..." He inhaled a quick, delaying breath. In all the days he'd spent away from her, he hadn't actually come up with this part. "I'd say..." He paused again. "Jackie..." his breath thickened and grew steady, "Jackie, I fall more damn in love with you each day, man. It's freakin' weird—and I don't think it's gonna change. Believe me, I've tried. But tomorrow I'll probably love you twice as much as I fucking do now. And the day after that..." He nodded. "Yeah, the day after that, it's gonna be more."

Jackie's cheeks were flushed and glazed with tears. He stroked the side of her face, for himself as much as for her.

"Life means shit without you, doll. I was a fucking moron." His thumb traced the line of her jaw, came to rest behind her earlobe—one of her most sensitive spots. "Don't know why I was a moron, but I was. If I ever get to have a future, I want it with you."

"Yes!" she shouted. "YES!"

"You like that?"

"Steven, I am __this__ close to coming right now."

"Huh." He did his best to memorize what he'd just said.

Jackie hugged herself to his body again, grabbed onto the back of his hair. "Steven..." She was grinding against his hips. "Make love to me, baby."

"Fuck..." He shut his eyes. Blood was pumping furiously into his groin, swelling his shaft. Jackie knew exactly how to alter the rhythm and intensity of her movements to get him hard as hell—but as much as he wanted to, he couldn't give in. He swept her hair away from her neck, pressed a kiss into her warm skin. "Not today."

"Wh-what?"

"Jackie... I don't have the ring yet."

"I don't care! What you said, it was so beautiful. The __way__ you said it, your voice, your eyes—God! It's everything I've been waiting for." She dropped kisses all over his face, returned to his lips, and her nimble tongue stole the breath from him. She felt so damn good inside his mouth, but he stopped her. Had to stop her.

"Not today," he repeated.

The light in her eyes dimmed. "Don't you want me?"

"More than almost anything."

"There's something you want __more?__ _"_

"Yeah," he pulled her off his lap and stood up, "you with me tomorrow."

"But you can have me now," she said.

"If I have you now, I could lose—" He shook his head. "I gotta do this right, Jackie."

She was glaring at him. "Oh, you damn well __better__ do it right tomorrow. Because now—" she kicked his shin, and he fell back onto the couch, "you are in so much trouble!" She headed for the basement door and grasped the knob. "I'm going to be at the stables tomorrow morning in the park. If you're not there, I will hunt you down and kill you."

"I'll be there," he said. His shin was throbbing, but he was grinning. He'd missed her kicks.

She opened the door and stepped halfway outside. "Oh, and you owe me __two__ orgasms tomorrow, Steven. You got that? __Two.__ _"_

"Got it."

_SLAM!_


	18. One Dream to Let Go Of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do” (C) ABBA; 1993 Polydor / Umgd. _L'âme en fleur_ by Victor-Marie Hugo.

CHAPTER 18  
 **ONE DREAM TO LET GO OF**

_"I do, I do, I do, I do, I do."_

Hyde sprang out of bed at the first sounds of ABBA. He crouched on the floor by his duffel bag, unzipped it, and sang mindlessly with the song. "Oh, I've been dreaming through my lonely past. Now I just made it. I found you at last..."

He rummaged in the duffel bag and yanked out the shirt he was looking for: The black silk one Jackie always liked him in. He hadn't worn it since his seduction of her mother, but his mind definitely wouldn't be on Pam today. The memory of that event had faded somewhat thanks to time, and he was too concentrated on his goal to spare much thought on it anyway.

He put the silk shirt aside and pulled out his thread-worn white Zeppelin tee. Couldn't risk the silk one getting damaged when he kicked Chad's ass later—or it smelling like horse. He took off his stinked-up Rolling Stones shirt and stuffed it underneath the rest of his clothes in the duffel bag. Then he lay the silk shirt above everything else for easy access. He'd be changing later.

His next task was to make sure his wallet and car keys were in his jeans. He wanted to take care of that detail while it was still in his head. With all the adrenaline pumping through his system right now, he was liable to forget something. As extra security, he draped his denim jacket over the duffel bag and dropped both by the door.

The sun seemed brighter through the window this morning, but it was probably just his imagination. This was going to be his last time in September 8th, 1979. If Jackie's reaction yesterday to his proposal's description was any clue—it had to be the last. What else could the freakin' cosmos want from him?

"So come on. Now let's try it," he continued to sing and headed for the bathroom. "I love you, can't deny it 'cause it's true. I do, I do, I do, I—fuck." He rushed back to the clock radio and shut it off. He hated when he sang with the damn song, but waking up to it 1021 times meant crap like that was gonna happen.

8:07 A.M.

Hyde was sitting on the bed, dressed in his white Zeppelin tee. The phone receiver was in his hand, and the operator's nasal voice was squawking from it. He'd just had his conversation with Donna, including his "Grasshopper" message to Jackie—but with an addition:

"Tell her to wait for me in the basement," he said. "I'll be there."

He was staring blankly now at the motel's dingy wall while the operator's recorded voice continued to bitch at him: _" _If you'd like to make a call, please hang up and try again."__

Hyde hung up the phone. He couldn't screw this up, man. He couldn't.

8:08 A.M. He patted his jeans pocket, felt his wallet and car keys, and barreled out of the room.

8:34 A.M. He was on Pine Avenue. He'd just called the ambulance for the Hobarts.

8:58 A.M. He withdrew $3000 from the bank.

9:21 A.M. He went to Kay Jewelers and bought Jackie's engagement ring—her "dream ring". It was a marquise diamond with a sapphires on either side. Smaller diamonds were set around the rest of the band. Total cost: A little over two thousand bucks.

9:34 A.M.. He bought a red picnic blanket, a picnic basket, and picnic-appropriate food from the Piggly Wiggly. Total cost: Less than thirty bucks.

9:41 A.M. He was sitting in the Camino, which was parked in the Formans' driveway. He put his shades in the glove compartment 'cause he had no plans on wearing them today. _  
_

9:43 A.M.

Hyde entered the house through the kitchen, started down the basement stairs and spotted Donna and Jackie on the couch. Their backs were to him, but they turned around the moment he stepped on that creaky sixth step. A wide smile broke on Donna's face first, and Jackie gasped a breathy, "Steven!" before leaping off the couch.

She met him at the bottom of the stairs. "Oh, my God. You're here. You showed up—you're really here!" she said and hugged him around the waist.

"Yeah..." He withdrew from her a little. "I've been an asshole, Jackie. For a damn year." He slid his palms over her cheeks and buried his fingers in her hair. "But I'm gonna make it up to you if you'll let me... starting today."

He leaned in for a gentle kiss, but she intensified it immediately. Her hands found purchase on the back of his head, and his breath abandoned him as she brought the feel and taste of her deep into his mouth. He eased into the kiss a heartbeat later, held her warm body tightly in his arms. He'd been waiting for this contact too many days, and he allowed himself the fullness of it...

Until Donna patted him hard on the back. "Don't you two ever come up for air?"

He separated from Jackie reluctantly, and Jackie gave Donna a ferocious glare. But then her eyes softened and returned to him.

"Steven... are we gonna be okay?" she said.

_" _Laissez-moi vous montrer,__ _"_ he said, and she looked at him as if she didn't understand. He translated: "Let me show you."

Donna flinched. "Since when do you speak French?"

"Got some tapes in the store," he said. "Been listening to 'em." _  
_ _  
_"You've..." Jackie covered her heart with both hands. "You've been learning French... for me?"

"Yup." He checked his watch: 9:47 A.M. "Jackie, I got the whole day planned for us." He offered her his arm. "I haven't earned it, but I need you to trust me."

She peered over at Donna conspiratorially, and Donna merely shrugged.

"Where are we going?" Jackie said to him. "Because if it's some awful saloon with mud-wrestling," she put her hands on her hips and arched an eyebrow, "I'll hurt you."

"It's not. You'll like it, doll. I promise." He offered his arm again, and this time she took it.

10:23 A.M.

Hyde had brought Jackie to Mt. Hump Stables, and she was clinging to his arm tightly. They were both standing by the mounting block, waiting for their horses. "I can't believe we're going horseback riding together!" she kept repeating. "I can't believe you learned how!"

At 10:29 A.M., his instructor Debbie and the twelve-year-old stable girl brought Paint and Caraway into the arena. Jackie watched as Hyde mounted Caraway, and a huge smile spread on her lips once he was in the saddle.

"I always knew you'd look sexy on a horse," she said. Her tone was lustful and deep. He loved it when her voice took on those qualities, and his fingers tightened on the reins. That one kiss in the basement hadn't been enough.

10:34 A.M.

Debbie was riding the black horse Midnight with Jackie and Hyde behind her. She led them into the park, through the trees and under the blue sky. They trotted and cantered over grass and dirt, across a shallow creek, and through a meadow of autumn flowers. Hyde liked the rhythmic, fluid way Jackie's ass moved in the saddle. She was riding in front of him, and she kept glancing over her shoulder with pure joy on her face. He returned the expression, not so pure. This was his fork in the road, man. He was either gonna make it to tomorrow or...

He refused to think about it.

11:36 A.M.

Outside Mt. Hump Stables, Hyde's legs were a little sore. He hadn't built any muscles from his two years of riding, just muscle-memory. Waking up each day on September 8th didn't allow any permanent changes to his body—mostly a good thing, considering he'd died seventeen times.

"What's next?" Jackie said. They were holding hands as they walked on the dirt path toward the stables' parking lot. "Is it to a shower? Because we both really need one."

"We get back in the Camino, and you keep trusting me," he said.

She didn't argue, didn't even complain again about smelling like horse. She just beamed at him.

When they got to the parking lot, he had her stand by the Camino's flatbed. "Wait here," he said. "I gotta do one thing."

He unlocked the car door and sat in the driver's seat. Then he looked for his duffel bag but didn't find it. And he knew it wasn't in the flatbed with the picnic stuff.

"Shit..." He lowered his forehead to the steering wheel. He'd left the damn bag and his jacket back at the motel. His hands shot to his left jeans pocket, where he'd stashed the engagement ring. Still there. He moved the ring to his back pocket. Jackie wasn't gonna get him in a fancy, non-stinky shirt today, but hopefully the rest of what he was going to do would make up for it.

11:51 A.M.

Hyde had driven Jackie up Mt. Hump to an overlook he scoped out months ago. It gave a nice view of the park, at least a thousand feet down. He set the red picnic blanket on the grass, away from the ledge. Then he put the picnic basket on top of the blanket as a weight. The air was breezy, and he didn't want anything to blow away over the precipice.

"Oh, God, Steven—this place is beautiful!" Jackie said and sat on the blanket. She began to pull food from the basket, but her gaze was toward the sky. Sunlight was shining through the trees in fat, golden rays. "Does my hair look like it's crowned with little stars?"

"Yeah..." He couldn't take his eyes off her. If she she hadn't been so hungry, he would've given her the first orgasm he owed her. But he took out some paper plates and began to make them sandwiches.

"I still can't believe you learned how to horseback ride," she said and stuck a spoonful of chopped apple into her mouth. She was already eating the fruit salad he'd bought. "You really took lessons this last year?"

He only nodded, didn't want to go into detail.

"I wish I would've known," she said. "The look on your face when you first sat on a horse—it must have been hilarious."

"I didn't last fifteen minutes. The horse tried to buck me."

"Oh! My poor baby..." She rubbed his knee. "At least you lasted longer than Michael and his first time with m—" She slapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide with terror, and they made her look like a deer about to get shot.

"Hey," he put down the turkey sandwich he'd just finished making, "don't freak, okay? Nothin' to freak over, doll."

"I've ruined everything!"

He cupped her shoulders gently, and her expression calmed a little. "I don't give a crap if you say his name, all right? It's the past, man. We're goin' forward. Not back. I'm done with going back, all right?" _  
_  
She nodded, her face finally relaxing to near-normal. He handed her the turkey sandwich, thick with lettuce and tomato and some shredded cheese. Then he slapped together a quick one for himself, without all the fixings Jackie liked on hers.

"How did you think to do all this?" she said after a few bites. "Did you come up with it on your drive to Chicago or your drive back?"

"The drive back." He stuffed a bug hunk of sandwich into his mouth, hoping it would deter her from asking anything else.

"Seeing me with Michael scared you, didn't it?"

__Damn it.__ He chewed quickly, swallowed down a hard lump of turkey. "Jackie, a lot of shit's scared me lately. And I know you've been scared, too—mostly 'cause of me." He dropped the sandwich onto a paper plate. His appetite had bailed. "But you don't have to be anymore 'cause I get it, okay? I get it."

He grasped her free hand, and his finger traced a smiley face on her palm.

"What are you doing?" she said through a sea of giggles.

"I don't know." And he didn't. It just felt like what he'd wanted to do. He brought her palm to his lips afterward and kissed it.

"Steven..." her hand remained by his face, and fingertips were caressing his cheek, "you're really cute."

Warmth infused his skin where she touched it—and spread down to his chest as a cold wind swept through the trees. He wanted to soak in the moment, Jackie's joyful expression. But the leaves were shaking on their branches, and they sounded like a rattlesnake about to strike. He had to keep moving.

But he waited until she finished most of her sandwich, just so she'd have some food in her. "Jackie," he said, "there's something I wanna tell you." He stood up and gestured for her to do the same.

"Anything, Puddin'." She got to her feet. Her hands settled onto his hips. "You can tell me anything."

He cleared his throat and began to recite Victor Hugo's __L'âme en Fleur.__ During the last four lines in particular, he made sure to look into her eyes—'cause those were the ones he actually liked:

_Comme un ange qui se dévoile,  
Tu me regardais dans ma nuit,  
Avec ton beau regard d'étoile  
Qui m'éblouit._

Translated, they said:

Like an angel revealing itself,  
You looked at me in my night,  
With your lovely star-gaze,  
Which shone on me.

By the end of it, Jackie's fingers were gripping his belt loops tightly. "Say it again," she said breathlessly.

"Um... okay. ' _ _Mon bras pressait ta taille frêle—__ _'"_

"No, in English."

Hyde stared at her. "But I thought your 'dream' included a poem in French."

"It does, but that's my __dream,__ is really happening, and I don't understand French that well. I just like the way it sounds." She pulled him closer so their hips were touching. "And your French is—I never knew you could sound that way. If you tell me the poem in English..." she flashed her most mischievous smile and palmed his butt, "I'll probably come right here."

He was still staring at her. What the hell did she mean she didn't understand French? "You took French in high school," he said, forcing his voice to remain level.

"Yeah, but I got bored after the third year, so I quit—why are you rolling your eyes?"

"Uh... just lookin' at that cloud there." He pointed to a white wisp. Then he cleared his throat for the second time today. _" _The Heart in Flower—__ _"_

"What?

"That's the title of the poem," he said.

"Oh!" She patted his back. "Go ahead."

He stumbled through the poem in English, though he knew the translation just fine. It just felt so damn awkward without the buffer of another language. He hadn't prepared for this.

When he was finished, tears filled Jackie's eyes, and she pressed her cheek to his chest. She didn't seem to care about his clumsy delivery. "That's so beautiful, Steven."

"So are you." He closed his arms around her, and the feeling almost made him forget what today was about.

She glanced up at him coyly. "I do have a star-gaze, don't I?"

"Yeah," he was grinning, "but it turns people to stone sometimes."

"Shut up!" She swatted at his shoulder then resumed holding him.

He allowed himself a few seconds more before taking her hands from his waist. It was almost one o'clock. The sun was shining overhead, and Jackie began to tremble as he knelt down on one knee.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she said. _  
_  
"Jackie," he said, "I fall more in love with you everyday, and that's not gonna change. Tomorrow I'll love you twice as much—and it'll double again the day after that." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the ring. Its diamonds and sapphires gleamed in the sunlight just like Jackie's cheeks, wet from tears. "Life means nothing without you," he continued. "If I ever get to have a future, I want it with you."

He held the ring to her left ring finger, but Jackie was frowning.

"Why are you doing this, Steven?" she said.

"Because I wanna marry you."

"That ring..." she was looking at it incredulously. "That's my dream ring." She grew silent and didn't move.

Hyde wanted to stand, but he was too afraid to get off his knee. He waved the ring at her instead. "Dream-ring, dream-proposal... Just say yes, Grasshopper."

"Say something to me in French," she demanded.

"What?"

"Say something to me in French, Steven."

"Okay, uh... _Pourquoi ne dites-vous pas oui? Si vous ne dites pas oui, je serai coincé pour toujours en ce jour._ _"_

Jackie's mouth dropped open then clenched shut. She snatched the ring from his fingers, strode to the dirt-covered precipice—

"Jackie, what the hell?"

—and hurled the ring over the rocky cliff.

She turned around, but her heels were only inches from the cliff ledge. "How long?" she said

"Whatever you wanna know, I tell you," he said and gestured to himself, "but you gotta come back here." His pulse was ticking away like a frenzied clock. It pumped all kinds of fear through his blood, threatened to override his intellect. But he stayed on his knee.

"I'm not—" she glanced behind her and took one step forward, "getting any closer until you tell me how long you've been planning this."

"A year," he said, even though it had been two. They'd spent most of their time together in '78, and no way she'd understand—or believe him—if he'd told her the real deal.

"You've been taking horseback riding lessons and learning French a _year?"_

"Yeah."

Her hand balled into fists, and she shouted, "A Goddamn year, Steven?"

"Jackie, you wanna knock my teeth in, go ahead. But you're gonna have to come here to do it." He took a risk and got to his feet—which prompted her to take half a step back. "Jackie!"

"No! You kept yourself away from me for a whole year when you could've just—we could've been together! How could you do this to me?" She burst into tears, and Hyde moved forward. "Don't you dare!" Her eyes were raging fire, ready to envelop him in flame. "All the 'I don't know's, all the lack of emotional affection... was just a setup? I begged you to propose, Steven—"

"And I'm proposing," he said, his own anger rising to the surface. "What's your damn problem?"

"I needed to know you loved me! You kept that from me, just like you kept your secret French lessons and whatever..." Her voice shrank. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm the guy who fucking loves you."

"Yes! There..." She pointed at him. "That's it. That's you. Your eyes... I just saw you in them."

Hyde felt deflated and very small. He didn't know what was going on, what he'd done wrong. Last night, Jackie had mauled him on the couch just for talking about this proposal. No questions about how he'd learned French or the horseback riding. Just blind acceptance. Now...

She was too damn close to dropping off a cliff. One wrong move, and she was gone.

"Jackie, punch me in the face, kick me in the 'nads. I don't care. Just come here, doll... __please__ _."_

She stepped away from the ledge. Her movements were slow, deliberately slow, but when she reached him, she gazed straight into his eyes.

"I feel lost, Steven."

He slid his hands over hers, and his fingers wrapped around her wrists tightly—in case she decided to bolt. "Join the club."

"Why did you do this to me? Why did you take my—"

"I was trying to give it to you, Jackie. You've been spouting off about a 'perfect proposal' since you were dating freakin' Kelso. Every damn guy in your life's deprived you of... of too much, man. I wanted t—"

"Not my dream, __you.__ You took you, Steven. You took yourself from me. Why?"

"You've got me now. What more do you want?"

She enclosed his own wrists with her hands and squeezed, tightly enough that her nails dug into him. "No! What you gave me today was a bunch of crap. 'I fall more in love with you everyday, and that's not gonna change.' What bullshit! There wasn't one sincere word in your proposal, Steven. I felt nothing, don't you get it? The horseback riding, the French!" She loosened her grip and tried to wrench herself free from him, but he wouldn't let her go.

"You're—you __were__ the most honest person I've ever known," she said, "Well, in private, but whatever. You didn't say 'I love you' unless you really, _really_ meant it. You didn't go to something like ballroom dancing lessons, even when I gave you an order, because you didn't want to. And the only reason you went to those horrible parties... Oh, God."

Her eyes shut, and her body broke into shudders as if she were freezing. "This is my fault," she said. "All of it. I pushed you into lying, into keeping secrets." Her eyes were moist pools when she finally opened them. "You didn't think you were enough for me, so you shut down and tried to give me what you thought I wanted instead of... Oh, God!" Her legs gave out, and she sank to the ground. "I'm so sorry!"

Hyde released her wrists and dropped to his knees. He tried to hold her shaking body, but she collapsed further onto his legs. The only thing he could do was bend over her back, as if sheltering her from the elements.

She cried into his jeans, her body shuddering worse with every breath. He was afraid to speak, to offer words of comfort. She needed them too badly, and his voice had done enough damage.

A sharp breeze cut through the trees, and their branches waved noisily at him. Did they know something he didn't? 'Cause he didn't know anything anymore—except that he loved the girl crumpled over his knees. He'd never stop loving her.

"My brain feels like it's in a fog," she said after awhile. "I keep going back to last year, before Eric and Donna's wedding..." She pressed her forehead into his thigh, and her hands knotted around his hip. "We were so good then, baby. So good... But then they didn't get married, and I thought, 'If Eric and Donna can't go through with it—how will we?' I got so scared I was gonna lose you. And the most awful thing is— _I _did.__ _"_

The pain in her voice made him shut his eyes against her back. "I fell off the Water Tower," he mumbled.

"What?"

"I fell off the—" His breath grew tight. He wasn't sure why he'd said that. "Did any part of today feel... right?"

"The kiss this morning," she said without hesitation. "And when you did that cute thing with my hand." A shaky sigh pulled from her. "I don't know anything anymore, Stev—no, that's a lie. I know I love you— _ _you,__ baby. Not that withdrawn thing you became last year and not a dream. Just you." Her hands tightened around his hip, and she began to cry again. "How do we go back? I want us to go back."

"We can't."

"Then what are we supposed to do?"

Hyde's veins felt choked with blood, and every beat of his heart threatened to make them rupture. "Maybe we're supposed to let each other go."

Jackie finally sat up and looked at him. "No."

"You and Kelso were together for a couple of years—"

"Steven, __no.__ _"_

"—but you two didn't work. Maybe it's the same with us." He threw up his hands and shrugged. "Maybe you're meant to be with freakin' Fez or something."

She gasped and hugged him to her chest. "Don't say that!"

"I can't give you what you deserve, Jackie. You deserve to see tomorrow... with or without me."

"Stop it."

"I've tried everything. The fucking cosmos doesn't want us together."

"Stop it!" She shoved Hyde away so forcefully they both tumbled backward, him onto the grass and her onto the dirt. "If you're right, Steven," she was crab-walking back toward the ledge, "if you're right, then I'm dead."

He didn't waste time speaking. He leapt to his feet and rushed forward. Jackie's left arm was already dangling over the precipice. One kick of her legs, and she was finished. He grabbed her ankles and yanked her back. Then he trapped her body beneath him.

"Why the hell would you do that?" he shouted.

She was smiling. "You're wrong."

"Fu..." His breath was speeding in and out of him. "Fuck." He lowered his head, and the top of his hair grazed her chin.

"If God didn't want us together," she said, "you would've tripped. Or the ledge would've crumbled before you could get to me."

"Jackie..." He let his face settle onto her chest. Her heart was beating forcefully, just like his.

"You've never yelled at me like that before," she said.

He closed his eyes, focused on the rise and fall of her body. "You've never tried to kill yourself in front of me before."

"What you were saying," she threaded her fingers into his hair, "it was already killing me."

"I'll never say that shit again."

He didn't want to talk anymore—or move, and she didn't make him. They stayed just as they were, Jackie on the dirt, and Hyde lying partially on top of her. Her steady breathing lulled him into a state of calm...

But not peace.

"What do you want?" he said finally, after the sun had dropped halfway toward the horizon.

"Some soda," she said. "My mouth's dry."

Hyde pushed himself off her but kept a hand around her wrist. They returned together to their picnic blanket, and he pulled a can of Diet Rite from the basket.

"It's 'pop,'" he said before giving it to her. "When are you gonna get it right?"

"'Soda' is what they call it in Milwaukee," she said and opened the can.

He took out a root beer. "You're not from Milwaukee."

She shrugged and drank a sip.

He looked at her with a sideways glance; then he frizzed out his hair so it looked more like Bob's. He also put on a heavy Wisconsin accent: "You got somethin' against soundin' like yer from Point Place?"

_" _Eww!__ _"_ She brushed his curls back down. "It's a wonder Donna doesn't sound like a botard."

"She kinda used to," he said.

"What?"

"Yeah, back when we were kids." He swallowed down some root beer and bit back the accompanying belch. "Used to say, 'What's your __prablem?__ _'_ instead of 'problem'. And 'Wis-cahn-san' instead of 'Wisconsin'. Stuff like that."

"Well, she doesn't do that now. What changed?"

"Forman teased her."

"Huh." She flicked the tab of her can. "Guess Eric was good for something after all."

"Guess so." A grin burst on his face and quickly turned into laughter. Part of his root beer splashed onto the blanket 'cause he was laughing so hard. He gulped some of the root beer down, hoping it would stifle him, but the carbon dioxide shot up his nose and made him snort. "Crap." He set the can down, and Jackie started laughing at him. "Quit laughin'," he said, but he was still cracking up himself.

"This," she said through her giggles. "This is what I want, Steven. Just this."

His grin sagged and snuffed out his laughter. "I don't know what 'this' is," he said, and the joy in her eyes was replaced by a thick sadness. "I'm sorry, doll. I just... I don't.."  
 _  
_"No, you _ _do__ know," she said. "I wouldn't have fallen in love with you without it."

"Then I can't remember, okay?"

She groaned and ripped the tab off her pop can. "Why are you so stubborn?"

"You threw a two-thousand dollar ring off a cliff, for starters."

"That's not why." She stood up and held out her hand. "Let's go."

He grasped her hand. "Where?"

"Just let me drive us somewhere."

"Cool," he said and stood up, too. They went to the Camino together, leaving their picnic—and his failed proposal—behind.

7:17 P.M.

Three hours later, a few minutes before sunset, they were in Stevens Point. Specifically, the University of Wisconsin. The Schmeekle Reserve occupied two-thirds of the campus, and Jackie had driven them to Lake Joanis in the southeast of it.

Hyde had never let her take control of his car this long or drive farther than Milwaukee. But she'd made the trip here without needing to look at a map. He was impressed, and now he understood what __"I'll have to get to Steven's point again"__ meant in her diary. She must have written that entry in a rush, which would explain the way she'd spelled it.

Trees almost completely surrounded the lake, and against the indigo sky they looked like a forest of black triangles. Jackie found a clear spot by the water, though, and parked. He was still impressed, and he gave her a small smile as she handed back his keys.

They were sitting on the Camino's flatbed less than a minute later, legs dangling over the lowered tailgate. Wind was blowing over the water, chilling the air and causing the water to splash against the lake bank. Pasted just above the horizon was a deep orange sun. It would sink below the lake soon, leaving him and Jackie in the dark.

"You've been here a lot?" he said softly, unsure of his voice. Neither of them had spoken during the drive. Just listened to the radio.

"A few times. I always hoped you'd see this." She pointed at the lake. "It's like the water's on fire."

"Looks more like someone spilled a bunch of orange paint."

_" _Shh.__ _"_ Her hand dropped onto his knee. "Just enjoy it."

He slid his fingers over her hand. He enjoyed __that.__

They sat quietly while the sun set. Five minutes of nature, of Jackie's warmth against his skin, of peace. All he wanted was to stay... _in_ _this moment,_ man. Here.

But he didn't know how.

"You applied to the University of Wisconsin?" he said. His gaze remained fixed on the dark horizon.

"They have a good Communications program."

"You should apply for the loans, Jackie."

A sharp pain struck his neck—Jackie had hit him. He peered over at her. She was shaking her head slightly, as if she couldn't believe what she'd heard. "How do you know about—?"

"If I thought you'd take it, I'd ask W.B. to help you out. He's 'rich as hell,' and you're my—" He pushed out a forceful breath, and his hands clutched the tailgate's edge. "Maybe you're not my anything. But I want you to be happy, man. And I—"

"Steven..." Her knuckles lightly brushed his his cheek; then her palm cradled it. "You make me happy, just by being with me."

He leaned into her hand, savoring the softness of it, but inwardly he cursed the cosmos. "I don't know how to do that."

"You used to."

"Why do you even want me?" He pulled her palm from his face. "After today— why the hell aren't you just sick of it?"

"I tried. I tried to hate you, even today, but I..." Her fingertip traced a circle over his heart, two dots for eyes, a curve for a frown. "There's no way out from you."

Hyde moved his focus to the lake. It reminded him of a dark pit, and the trees jutted behind it like thick, black spears. Frogs were croaking in the grass, sounded like the crunching of bones. He shut his eyes and tried to block it all. __No way out, man...__

Jackie guided his face back to her. "I don't want one," she said and kissed his lips gently. "I forgive you, Puddin'... for today. For this whole year. We both messed things up, not just you." She kissed his lips again, more intensely. "Do you forgive me?"

"Did a long time ago."

"So why are you still trapped?"

He flinched as if she'd burned him with a match. "What?"

"You're trapped. I can feel it, Steven. I've felt it for a long time."

"Jackie—" He cut himself off; there was no denial. "Yeah. I am."  
 _  
_"I don't think I can free you," she said.

"You can't." He wound a piece of her hair around his finger then let it unravel. "But I've got no freedom without you."

Wordlessly and without warning, Jackie hopped off the Camino's flatbed. She removed her shirt, slipped off her shoes, began to take off her jeans...

"What are you doing?" he said. He grabbed her shirt and got off the flatbed.

"Going for a swim."

"I don't fuckin' think so." He tried to give her back the shirt, but she darted away from him. Her jeans were in a pile by his feet. "Jackie, come on!"

She unhooked her bra and dropped it on the grass. "Scaredy-cat!"

"Whatever." He leaned against it Camino's tailgate with crossed his arms. His eyes were adjusted to the dark, and he watched as Jackie scampered toward the lake.

Her panties were a twirling shadow on her finger. "Pussy!" she shouted and tossed them in his direction.

"Yeah, you're bluffing. No way you'd—"

She dove into the lake, and the sound of her splash drew him from the Camino to the water's edge. He couldn't really see her, just the ripples her movement created in the lake.

"It's freezing in here!" she said.

"No shit."

_" _Eww!__ I think a fish just swam by me." She was laughing. _Laughing_ about it.

Hyde sat down on the grass. Who the hell was __she,__ man?

"Hey, if I catch a fish," she said, "we could have dinner." She glided up to him and rested her elbows on the lake bank. Her hair was clinging wetly to her face. "Would you clean a fish for me, Steven?"

"I'll clean you with my damn tongue if you get outta there."

"Maybe later." She swept her arm back and splashed water at him. It soaked through his jeans, froze his skin..

"Come on," he said. "If you stay in there, you're gonna get sick." He reached for her, and she grasped his wrist with both hands. She was trying to pull him in. "Hey, I don't wanna—" He leaned backward, and she slipped off him, plunged deep into the lake. Her head disappeared beneath the surface. "Jackie?"  
 _  
_No sign of her.

"Jackie!"

Still nothing.

Panic flooded his chest, and he jumped into the lake fully clothed. The water seeped into everything he wore, including his boots, and weighed him down—but he took a deep breath for a dive.

Jackie popped up before he he needed to use it. "Surprise!" She flung her arms around his neck, but their combined weight sank them deeper into the lake. She let him go. "Cold in here, isn't it?"

Hyde kicked his legs with all his strength to stay afloat. She'd fucking tricked him... __nice.__ He'd always appreciated her devious side, but being in this water... "It's like a Goddamn icebox," he said.

She pointed to the grass-covered bank as a giggle floated from her. Then she swam to it and pulled herself out. "It's colder out here!" she said with chattering teeth. Her arms wrapped around herself protectively, and her legs started to shake.

He climbed out of the lake and tore off his wet shirt. It really was colder outside, now that he was soaked, and the wind made him shiver. He scanned the dark ground for Jackie's clothes. He found her bra first.

"I wish we'd brought the picnic blanket with us," she said. She was trembling by his bare shoulder.

"Who asked you to go skinny dipping?" He picked up her panties and handed them to her. He found her shirt next, then her pants and shoes by the Camino. But she was still completely naked when he turned back to her. "Put your damn clothes on already," he said—not something he thought he'd __ever__ hear from his own mouth. He lifted the shirt over her head, but she pushed him away.

"I'm too wet!"

So was he. He sat on the Camino's flatbed, set her clothes aside, and yanked off his boots. Water spilled from them to the grass—and onto Jackie's bare feet.

"Hey!" she said.

"Sorry." He tossed his boots behind him, and they thudded onto the flatbed. Then he pulled his car keys from his pocket and tried to take off his jeans. They were hard to unbutton, though, 'cause the water had temporarily shrunk them. He had to suck in his stomach and wrench the button free.

Now he was completely naked except for his watch and dripping-wet boxers. His damn teeth were chattering. "It's f-f-fucking f-freezing," he said and folded his arms for warmth. "Y-you gotta get dressed!"

She snatched her clothes. "Fine, but what're you gonna do?"

"Die."  
 _  
_"Steven!" She whipped her bra at his face.

"You'll have to drive," he said once she was dressed. He gave her the car keys, got off the flatbed, and shut the tailgate. Forgetting his duffel bag was a dumb mistake, man, in a long string of 'em.

They were sitting in the Camino moments later, Jackie in the driver's seat, him in the passenger. Her shivering seemed to have calmed down, but his boxers felt like a cold, clammy hand clutching his 'nads. He had to take them off.

"Start her up," he said, "and don't look at me." He peeled off his wet boxers, kicked them into a corner.

She was watching him. "You're not small like that."

"Jackie, what the hell did I tell you?" He cupped his hands over his crotch.

The Camino's engine growled to life, and Jackie pulled away from the lake. Night enveloped them like a thick blanket, but the car's headlights gave enough light to drive by. "Breasts don't shrink because they're cold," she said.

"No, their nipples get harder." He turned a knob on the dashboard, and heat streamed in from the radiator. He resumed covering himself, but his watch was digging into his wrist, so he took it off. It joined his shades and wallet in the glove compartment.

Jackie drove them off the Schmeekle Reserve and onto Indiana Avenue. "You make my nipples get harder," she said with a smile, "and you're not cold."

A few chuckles rolled out of him, and he said, "Yeah, and you definitely do the same to—" Blood rushed into his groin, reversing the effect of the lake... and demonstrating what he'd intended to say. "Let's talk about something else, okay? Like your grandma."

"I don't know what her nipples look like, but I'm sure they're as beautiful as mine." She tossed her wet hair back onto her shoulder. "Burkhart nipples are eter—"

"Don't wanna hear about it," he said.

She turned right onto Stanley Street. "What's wrong with Burkhart nipples?"

"Jackie," he leaned his head back and shut his eyes, "if you don't quit saying that word, we're gonna have a big problem."

"And if __you__ can control your dirty urges for ten minutes, I'll take of them."

"Huh?"

"We'll be at the motel," she said.

"What motel?"

"You didn't think I was gonna drive us back to Point Place tonight, did you? It's a three-hour drive, you're wet and naked... and I don't want to."

He sat up straight. "How the hell am I supposed to—I can't get us a room like this."

She didn't answer, just turned left onto Michigan Avenue. They pulled up to the Consolation Inn a few minutes later.

"Stay here," she said and took his wallet from the glove compartment. Then she kissed him, warm but brief, before leaving the car.

The keys were still in the ignition. He considered rabbiting out of here, driving until it was 7:59 A.M. and he woke up again in the Shooting Star Motel. But he didn't want Jackie to suffer another damn second because of him... or because of anything else.

He'd just have to suck it up, even though every second—for him—felt like fucking torture. Each moment that ticked by brought him closer to "tomorrow," to another September 8th, 1979. And this day, _this_ September 8thwas one he could live with. The proposal had exploded in his face, but Jackie—she was fucking incredible.

She was gone a while, though, so he pulled out his watch to check the time. But water had leaked into the face and obscured the numbers. The hands didn't seem to be moving anymore, either. He chucked the watch back into the glove compartment— _ _useless piece of crap__ _—_ and turned on the radio.

Took him a moment to find a station. Zeppelin's "D'yer Mak'er" was playing, which was nice, but it gave him no clue as to the time. Only Kenosha, Milwaukee, and Chicago's radio station schedules were branded on his brain.

By the time the song was over, Jackie returned with a blue bathrobe tucked beneath her arm. "Here," she said and shoved the robe at him. "I got us their most expensive room—the 'honeymoon suite'— which is basically the equivalent of a cheap room in a decent hotel." She sat back in the car and turned on the ignition. "We're in building 'C'."

"Cool," he said, and with some awkward maneuvering, he managed to fit the robe around himself and tie it closed. "Hope it has thick walls."

* * *

"Ste—oh, my God!"

Jackie's fingers clutched at Hyde's hair as his mouth sucked and licked the flushed, stiff peaks of her breasts. She was coming, he could tell by the pressure on his scalp and the way her hips bucked against him. But he wasn't inside her, just on top.

Her breathing soon relaxed, and her hands loosened their grip. He kissed the hollow of her neck, pressed another kiss below her ear. Her skin was hot against his lips, but the bed's comforter was cool against the rest of him—and he needed to cool down. Her pleasure had made him hard as hell, and his erection was sheathed in one of the room's "complimentary" condoms just in case he couldn't control himself...  
 _  
_But he had no intention of nailing Jackie. Tonight was about her—and only her.

"Don't know how—how you make—" she said between ragged breaths, "how you make me do that just with my nipples, baby."

He smiled into her breast. "Gonna make you do it again."

"Again?"

"I owe you two."

* * *

"God, baby, please come here!" Jackie shouted.

Her fingers were threaded in Hyde's hair again, only this time they were tugging at him. His mouth was buried in the warmth between her thighs. Up till now, she'd been moaning wordlessly and grinding against his face. Her urgent, blissful voice and writhing hips had made him release into the rubber already.

_" _Please!__ _"_

He lifted his face up. "Jackie, you really want me to stop?"

"No, I—" breaths left her in shallow gasps, "I want you with me."

"I can't."

"What the... hell does that mean?"

"It means I already came," he said.

She pushed herself onto her elbows. "What?"

"Just let me give you what I can give you, okay?"

"I want __you,__ _"_ she said, and her head fell back onto the pillows. "Not half."

His fingers glided into her moist folds and continued the job his tongue had started. "Trying to give you double here."

"And zero for you." She was pouting.

"I got one."

"Not with me"

"Sure as hell was __because__ of you," he said.

_"_ _ _Ugh!__ _"_ She closed her knees and swung her legs to the side of the bed. "Why don't you want to make love to me? Is it because of Michael?" _  
_

Hyde groaned and slid his body over the bed. His forehead dug into the comforter; his hands grasped the top sheet. He was so damned tired of this. Why the fuck couldn't the cosmos just let him die?

"I'll be in the bathroom," Jackie said. She started to get off the bed, but he grabbed her wrist.

"Not your fault," he said. "I want you. I just... couldn't. Not today."

"Why?"

He let her go. Then he rolled onto his back and covered his face with his hands. It was too much, man. 1021 days of this hell was too much.

"Steven?" She touched the back of his hand, which prompted him to speak.

"'Tomorrow' you're gonna be gone," he said, "and... and I won't..." he pressed his palms into his eyes, "I won't be able to fucking take it if we're together like that."

"I'm not going anywhere but to the bathroom," she said.

The mattress bounced slightly as she stood up. Moments later, he felt the condom slip off him. A warm, damp paper towel took its place. She was cleaning him off.

"You'll never lose me, Steven." She tossed the clump of towel into a trash basket. "Never again." She crawled over his body, and her smile hovered only inches above his face. "But I'm done being without you. So you better figure out what your freakin' problem is."

Hyde scooted backward to the pillows with her, and she settled herself on top of him. But her presence embedded a searing ache deep inside his chest. He wanted to bolt, to cower in some hole until the cosmos finally gave up on this burn. He wouldn't leave her, though. Not tonight.

His arms closed around her bare back, and his lips lingered at her shoulder. Their stomachs were rumbling against each other. Neither had eaten much food today.

"This place have room service?" he said.

"Uh-huh." Her mouth left a slow, soft kiss on his neck, just beneath his jaw. "Your stomach sounds like an angry bear."

"So does yours."

She flicked his chin. "Take that back."

"You're right. Sounds more like Big Rhonda last in line at the buffet."

"Oh!" Jackie sat up, straddled his waist, and jabbed a finger at him. "You be nice to me, Steven Hyde, or I won't order you anything but Raisin Bran."  
 _  
_"That'll just burn both of us," he said and rested his hands on her hips. "You'll have to deal with the stink."

"N'uh-uh. I'll lock you in the bathroom. You can sleep in the tub." She was looking at him sternly but couldn't maintain the guise. She broke into a smile and then giggles.

A matching smile surfaced on his lips, but his pulse was racing. They were both still completely naked, and the sight of her laughing—the warmth and weight of her thighs on his growling stomach—threatened to make him reload. So he slapped her butt lightly and said, "All right, let me call."

"I need to look at the menu first," she said. She climbed off him, and the first thing he did was grab the blue robe from the floor. He closed it around his growing hard-on, couldn't risk her seeing it. "I want Chicken Parmesan," she said by the room's rosewood desk. The menu was in her hand. "And some Cabernet."

"Yes, dear." He picked up the phone from the nightstand, willed his hard-on to soften the hell up. The room's clock radio—why did all motels have fucking clock radios?—said it was 9:26 P.M.

* * *

11:11 P.M. Jackie was fast asleep in Hyde's arms. The wine had done her in. He should've drunk more than a glass, but he needed to stay sharp. He still had a phone call to make.

1:17 A.M. He hung up with the Elkhart, Illinois Police Department. Jackie stirred, popped open an eye, but sank into sleep again.

3:30 A.M.

Hyde's mind wouldn't shut down. Less than five hours until this life would be ripped away from him. He stroked the back of Jackie's hair and softly kissed her temple. Losing her "tomorrow" was gonna kill him...

If only he'd stay dead.

* * *

Hyde awoke with a start. Waves of pleasure were pulsing up his hardened shaft and deep into the rest of his body He opened his eyes as moans pulled out of him involuntarily. Jackie's warm mouth surrounded his erection, skillfully working the tip and the length of him.

It took a moment for his eyes to take in anything else. The motel room was brightly lit, and Jackie's hair was golden in the sunlight from the window. Had he made it? His fists clutched the bed sheets, and he turned to the clock radio.

7:58 A.M.

__Fuck!__ He let his head fall back on the pillows and relaxed into what Jackie was giving him. But his muscles clenched less than a minute later. He was going to come any second, had never come inside her mouth before, didn't want to...

"Jackie," he shouted with a gasp, "stop—"

_"I do, I do, I do, I do, I do..._ __"_ _


	19. Possessed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do” (C) ABBA; 1993 Polydor / Umgd. "I Don't Live Today" (P) 2009 Experience Hendrix L.L.C., under exclusive license to Sony Music Entertainment. "My Sharona" (C) The Knack; 1979 Capitol Records, Inc. "All the Things You Are" (C) 2000 Universal International Music B.V.

CHAPTER 19  
 **POSSESSED**

Hyde was curled up in his bed at the Shooting Star Motel. His boxers were on his body, dry and clean, along with his jeans and stink-ridden Rolling Stones shirt. He hadn't moved since the first note of ABBA's "I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do" hit his ears. The song finished some time ago, but he didn't bother to look at the clock. Didn't call Donna or the Point Place Police Department about the Wisconsin Waster. Didn't go to the bathroom but pissed himself in the bed...

Now his boxers were wet and dirty. But it didn't matter. Nothing fucking mattered.

He rolled onto the floor, and the back of his skull hit the nightstand. A massive throb kicked up in his head, but he crawled to the front door of his room. Pulled himself up with the doorknob. Left the room, eyes unfocused.

He plodded down the staircase to the lobby. Stepped behind the concierge desk. Phyllis yelled at him, but he took the .38 special from the desk drawer. Stuck the snub-nosed barrel into his mouth, pulled the trigger—

_BLAM!_

**DAY 1023**

_"I do, I do, I do, I do, I do..."_

Hyde jumped out of bed, ran to the door, hurtled down the stairs, shoved Phyllis out of the way, grabbed the gun, thrust the barrel into his mouth—

_BLAM!_

**DAY 1024**

_"I do, I do, I do, I do, I do..."_

Hyde woke, went to the lobby, and shot himself.

**DAY 1025**

_"I do, I do, I do, I do, I do..."_ __  
_ _

Hyde woke, went to the lobby, and shot himself. _  
_

And for the next 228 days he did this _—_ went to the lobby and shot himself—and for 229 mornings he woke up alive but not well in his motel room.

On day 1253, he tried something different. He pulled a belt from his duffel bag and picked up the room's desk chair. Then he went to the bathroom, looped his belt through the ceiling's air vent, and hung himself.

The dizzy, panic-filled minutes before he passed out felt long. But he woke in his room the next morning unharmed, which let him know he'd successfully _—_ and unsuccessfully _—_ committed suicide.

It took nine days for him to get used to those unpleasant minutes before unconsciousness. And he hung himself ninety-nine times before he was finished trying.

**DAY 1352**

Hyde woke in the bed completely sickened by himself. Over three-hundred suicide attempts—fuck! When the hell had he become such a pussy? The first deaths had been from anger, but then frustration took over, followed by complete fear. He felt like a zombie, and when he called Donna—for the first time in 330 days—he sounded like one.

"Is everything all right?" she said.

"Fine. Don't go to the Le Motel..." He warned her about the Waster.

"Yeah, I have no plans on going there. Seriously, Hyde, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said. "Tell Jackie I love her... and I'm sorry."

"What?"

_Click._

He called the Point Place P.D. next and told them about the Waster. Because of his affectless zombie-voice, the cops asked if he were the Waster himself.

"No, man. Just tired."

Eleven minutes later, he was at the site of the Hobarts' accident. Chad got in a few punches, but Hyde managed to knock him out.

8:50 A.M.

Hyde's left eye was swollen shut by the time he got to the basement. He wasn't thinking, just moving.

"Hyde, oh, my God, you're here!" Donna said from the couch, but he went straight to his room without saying a word.

He locked himself inside and scanned the records on his shelf. Donna was knocking on his door, but he ignored her and pulled Hendrix's __Are You Experienced__ from his collection.

"Hyde, what's going on?" she said through the door. "What happened?"

He put the record on his stereo. Took a few drops of the needle before he got to the song he wanted.

__"__ _Will I live tomorrow?"_ Hendrix sang. _"Well, I just can't say."_

Hyde sat on his cot, shoulders hunched. He wasn't looking at anything though his right eye was open.

__"_ _ _Will I live tomorrow? Well, I just can't say."_

"Hyde! Let me in!" Donna shouted.

He leaned over his knees and covered his head.

_"But I know for sure I don't live today."_

She kept pounding on the door. He sank to the concrete ground and just lay there.

_"No sun comin' through my windows,"_ Hendrix sang, _"Feel like I'm livin' at the bottom of a grave."_

The floor's cold penetrated Hyde's skin. Donna finally quit trying to reach him.

_"_ _I wish you'd hurry up and execute me so I can be on my miserable way."_

The song ended a few minutes later. Hyde jumped to his feet, put the needle back to the beginning. Then he returned to the cold ground. He did this five times before Jackie's voice burst through the door.

"Steven!"

_"_ _Well, I don't live today."_

"You open this door, or you're in big trouble!" she shouted.

_"Maybe tomorrow. I just can't tell you, baby."_

"Please, Steven!"

_"Oh, I don't live today."_

She banged on the door.

_"It's such a shame to spend the time away like this, existing..."_

"God—please, let me in! I love you!"

He didn't move until the song finished. Then he restarted it.

The song played four more times before he heard the door being pulled off its hinges.

_"I wish you'd hurry up and execute me so I can be on my miserable way."_

Red's gruff voice broke through the song. "Get up, dumbass."

Hyde didn't move.

"You're scaring the hell out of these girls. Now get your ass up, or I'll kick it through the wall."

_"I don't live today."_

Too many rough fingers grabbed the back of Hyde's shirt and yanked him off the floor. The three of them, Red, Donna, and Jackie forced him to stand. They were holding him up, but his head drooped down to his chest.

Red shook him a little. "What the hell did you take, hophead? What happened?"

_"Rien,"_ he muttered in French. _Nothing._

"Why do you have a shiner?" Red said.

He didn't answer, so Donna raised his chin—but his swollen left eye remained closed and his right eye was only half-open.

_"It's such a shame to spend the time away like this, existing..."_

"Will someone turn that damn record off?" Red shouted..

_"Non,"_ Hyde protested weakly. A pair of hands left him, and the music stopped.

A wet finger touched his cheek. Jackie's. "Steven, if you care about me at all," her voice was trembling, "tell me what's going on."

_"Je ne vis pas aujourd'hui,"_ he said.

"That's it." Red dragged him to the door. "I'm taking you to the hospital."

"Maybe you should try a church," Donna said. "He's speaking in freakin' tongues!"

"No," Jackie said, "it's French. He said, 'I don't live today.'"

"I don't care what fruity language he's speaking." Red pulled Hyde into the main basement and dropped him onto the couch. Then he picked up the phone from the spool table. "I'm calling an ambulance. You two watch him."

But Hyde lay there unmoving. Jackie grasped his hand. "Say something else, baby."

" _Je me suis tué plus de trois cents fois,_ " he said and closed his right eye fully. " _C'est une honte de perdre votre temps loin aiment ceci, existant._ "

"What did he say?" Donna said. "Something about his black eye?

"No..." Jackie squeezed his hand tighter. "It's bad."

"Jackie, spill it!" Donna said.

"Quit hitting me, you moose!" Jackie's fingers left him briefly then returned. "He said he's killed himself over three-hundred times. And that it's a shame he's spending his time like this, just existing."

Donna gasped. "That's from the song! The second part, and the other thing he said in his room. He's quoting the Hendrix song."

A heavy weight fell on his stomach and made his right eye open. Donna was sitting on top of him.

"Are you fucking with us?" she said.

"Get off him, Donna," Red said and gestured to the floor. He'd hung up the phone. "The ambulance will be here in a few minutes."

Donna stood up, but Jackie took her place. " _Are_ you screwing with us?" Jackie said in French.

"You're a damn liar," Hyde said back in French. "You understand French just fine 'I got bored—' What a joke."

"What are you talking about?"

"You said you quit after three years."

She glanced at him sideways. "When did I tell you that?

"A long time ago."

"Well, I lie, Steven. It's what I do. I went to school in Paris for a year."

" _Connerie,_ " he said.

She swatted his shoulder. "It is not bullshit. I was five. Daddy had a high-profile client, and we had to live there. How do you think he earned most of his money?"

"Didn't know he'd 'earned' any money."

She swatted his shoulder again. "Don't be a jer—"

"Hey!" Donna interrupted in English. "Some of us would like to know what's going on."

"We're just talking,," Jackie said.

"In French!" Donna said.

Red pulled Jackie off Hyde's stomach and got close to his face. "If you're playing some kind of sick game, Steven, what I did to Eric over the nineteen years of his life will seem like a paradise compared to what I'm gonna do to you."

Hyde didn't answer. He just closed his right eye, nothing to say...

"Why the hell are you speaking French?" Donna shouted at him. "How do you even _know_ French? You took Spani—"

"Leave him alone," Jackie said, and soft hands landed on his shoulders.

Donna lowered her voice. "Jackie, don't you think it's strange he's fluent in French all of a sudden? I'm telling you, this is right out of the _Exorcist!_ "

Something warm and smooth pressed against Hyde's cheek—Jackie's. _"Ugh!"_ she said by his ear. "That's something stupid Eric would say. Think practical, Donna. Steven didn't know I was fluent, so why couldn't he be? Maybe he had a French relative who used to babysit him or something." She dropped a gentle kiss onto his lips, eased her hand over his heart. "I don't know, and I don't care. I just want him to be okay."

_"Je ne serai jamais bien aussi longtemps que je suis en Septembre huitième, 1979,"_ Hyde said.

"Why?" Jackie said in French. "What's wrong with September 8th? What's wrong with today?"

"Where's that damn ambulance?" Red said. "Steven, you're going straight to the looney bin if you don't cut the crap."

Jackie gasped, and Hyde felt her climb completely on top of him. "No!" She was holding him tightly. "You can't let them bring him there. Donna, we have to get him out of here."

He sucked in a deep breath. __"_ Il n'y a pas moyen de sortir."_

"What did he say, Jackie?" Donna said.

"He said, 'There's no way out.'"

"Oh, God!" Donna's voice was as shrill as he'd ever heard it. "He __is__ possessed. He is!"

"Donna, calm down," Red said, but then he whispered, "Jackie, ask him if he's possessed."

"Steven—"

"I'm not possessed," Hyde said in French. "I'm trapped. So I'm just gonna lie here. And then 'tomorrow' will come, and I'll wake up in the Shooting Star Motel, and I'll lie __there.__ And lie there. And lie there. And lie there. And lie there. And lie there—"

"Where is that damn ambulance?" Red shouted. "Donna, don't let him out of your sight."

The basement door creaked open and slammed shut.

"And lie there, and lie there, and lie there—" Hyde was still saying.

"Steven, stop it," Jackie said in English.

" _Je voudrais pouvoir,_ " he said. _I wish I could._

Donna made a small whimpering sound, and it made him open his right eye.

"I'm sorry," he said in English. "Don't wanna scare you, but I'm... _Je le crains._ "

"Oh, God!" Jackie burst into tears and buried her face in his neck. "Don't be afraid, baby. We're gonna take care of this, we're gonna take care of this—whatever it is." Then, barely audible, she said, "This is my fault."

"No." Hyde grasped Jackie's shoulders and sat up with her. His heart pounded frantically. "You did nothing wrong," he said in French. "You were as trapped as me, so don't."

"Steven..." She slipped her arms around his waist and continued to cry into his neck.

He held her silently. Having her so close made him feel slightly better, even though she was upset. Everything he thought he knew about his existence had gone to hell—except for this one thing: He loved her. Not even death could change that.

The basement door swung open, and two paramedics rushed inside with Red, Kelso, and Fez following behind.

"Excuse me," one of the paramedics said, and Jackie stood up—but she refused to let go of Hyde's hand. The paramedic took out a small flashlight. He gently opened Hyde's swollen eye and shone the light in front of it.

"Steven," said the other paramedic, "where are we?"

Hyde didn't feel like answering, so he didn't.

The first paramedic shone the flashlight into Hyde's right eye. "How did you get that black eye?"

"Answer him," Jackie said.

_"Ne vous sentez pas comme lui,"_ Hyde said.

"I don't care if you don't feel like it." She jerked his hand a little. "Do it."

"Is he French?" said the second paramedic. He'd taken out a blood pressure meter and was fitting the cuff around Hyde's arm.

"No," Red said. "He's a dumbass."

The second paramedic placed the bottom of a stethoscope above Hyde's inner elbow and began to pump air into the blood pressure cuff.

The first paramedic put the flashlight away and said, "Can you repeat the months of the year in reverse order?"

"September," Hyde said in English. "September, September, September, September, September, September, September, September, September, September, September."

"Definitely a possible concussion," the first paramedic said. "We should get him a CT scan."

The blood pressure cuff constricted around Hyde's arm tightly, and his fear grew. He pulled Jackie's hand to his lips. "Get me out of here," he said in French.

"Steven, I—"

"Please, doll." He released her hand at the same time the blood pressure cuff deflated.

"BP's 130/85," the second paramedic said.

Jackie went over to Kelso, who'd been standing silently by the deep freeze. She whispered to him, but he didn't seem to understand. Jackie whispered to him again, and this time he nodded. He pulled something small from his jeans pocket and gave it to her.

"So what's wrong with him?" Red said to the paramedics.

"Judging by his aphasia, heart rate, blood pressure, and that black eye he's sporting, I'd say a moderate concussion," the first paramedic said. "We'll have to take him to the hospital, make sure there's no cerebral hemorrhaging..."

"Ai, no!" Fez said from the stairs. "Hyde is broken."

Jackie walked back to the couch and took Hyde's hand again in both of hers. Something jagged and cold pressed against his palm.

"Sandhill Road " she said in French.

He answered in French: "Meet me at the Water Tower," and she nodded.

The paramedics were helping him stand. He shoved them off and bolted to the basement door.

"Hey!" the paramedics shouted.

"Steven!" from Red, but Hyde was already outside on the staircase, taking two stairs at a time.

He made it to the Formans' driveway where the Camino was parked—and blocked by the ambulance in front of it. Jackie had told him Sandhill Road, so he sped into the backyard, out the back gate and down Birchcreek Lane. He took a right at the busted lamp post and found Kelso's red sports car parked behind a mailbox. The top was down, as usual.

_Yeah,_ Hyde thought, _real clever place to keep your car, moron._ That someone like himself hadn't hot-wired the thing and made off with it surprised the hell out of him.

The car's keys were in his hand, and he hopped into the driver's seat with smirk. Living the same day over 1300 times hadn't made Kelso any smarter, either.

10:33 A.M.

Driving with one eye wasn't ideal, but Hyde got to the Water Tower safely. Jackie wasn't there yet, but he hadn't expected her to be.

He stepped onto the Water Tower's ladder. Then he climbed to the platform high above the woods. He didn't know what to do, so he stared at the tree tops and waited.

The Vista Cruiser eventually pulled up beside Kelso's sports car. Jackie stepped out of it, which made Hyde realize how fast his pulse was ticking. Seeing her alone slowed down everything inside him.

She glanced up at the Water Tower and put a hand over her heart. She'd spotted him. He gestured to himself: _Come here._

A few minutes later, she was sitting beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder. Their legs were dangling over the platform.

"Thank you," he said in French, "for getting me the hell out of there."

"You got yourself out," she said back. "I just gave you Michael's keys... Can we _please_ speak in English now? No one else is here."

" _Ne croyez pas que je peux,_ " he said. " _Française se sent mieux._ " _I don't think I can. French feels better._

Jackie sighed and slid her hand over his knee. "Steven, why are you so scared?" she said in French. "Does it have to do with your black eye?"

"No..." He threaded his fingers between hers and grasped her palm. In all his repeating days, he hadn't told Jackie the whole story, and he he couldn't bring himself to do it now.

"Steven, tell me _something."_ She plumped out her bottom lip in a pout. "Please?"

Despite the terror shuddering through his nerve-endings, a smile broke on his lips. He brushed some of Jackie's hair from her face and let his hand linger by her jawline. "I love you."

"Steven..." her gaze sank to the trees below, "you were right when you said I was trapped... and wrong. I'm _still_ trapped. If Donna and Eric had just gotten married like they were freakin' supposed to—Chicago never would've happened." Her eyes rose to him again. "Did you start feeling stuck after you saw Michael and I—"

"I barely remember that, Jackie. It was so damn long ago."

"It was just last night."

"Not to me. To me it was... three years, nine months, two weeks, and four days ago."

Jackie shook her head. "I don't know what that means."

"It means Chicago doesn't matter. It means I don't know why the hell I'm stuck. But it's gotta end, doll. I can't live like this anymore."

"You—" she inhaled a shaky breath, "you don't wanna—you can't want to..."

He smiled weakly. "Wouldn't matter if I did."

A breeze gusted sharply through the air, and Jackie leaned into his side. He covered her shoulders with his arm, tucked her head beneath his chin. The crisp smell of leaves mixed with Jackie's violet-scented shampoo filled his nose, sent him back to June 1978—and cleared some of the murk a year of death had settled over his brain.

"Do you remember when I fell off?" he said.

"The Water Tower?"

"Yeah."

"Of course," she said. "When Donna told me what she'd done to you, I wanted to rip out all her hair."

He withdrew his arm from her and stood up on the platform. "Anything else?"

She was looking down at the woods again."Between Donna's words, 'I pushed Hyde off the Water Tower' and 'He's okay,' I thought I'd lost you. You're not like Michael. He's all bouncy and used to falling off things. You're..." She peered up at him and rubbed his calf. "You're strong, but you can break."

"I think something happened when I fell," he said and swung a leg over the metal guard rail.

Jackie used the rail to get to her feet. "What are you doing?"

"I gotta do this, Jackie."

"Do you hate me?"

"Never."

"Then do you hate yourself? 'Cause you're acting like it."

"Kinda." He swung his other leg over the rail. The back of his heels were on the platform, and his hands were gripping the rail. "If I don't make it, I'll see ya 'tomorrow'."

He let go as Jackie screamed. His body lurched forward, and he managed to do a flip before plunging into a tree. Its thick branches slowed his fall—until nothing but empty space lay between him and the ground. He landed hard. The air sailed from his lungs, and his body was tingling sharply, but a hidden piece of memory burst in his mind like a firework.

"Steven!" Jackie shouted from above.

He curled his fingers, wiggled his toes. "I'm cool!" he shouted back in English.

"Thank God!" She climbed down the ladder and rushed to his side. "Why the hell did you do that? Why?"

"I couldn't handle it," he said. "They screwed me, man—and kept screwin' me, and I took it. I fucking took it. Fuckin' _asked_ for it! I was born into a trap, man..." He was rambling like a little kid, like freakin' Forman, but he couldn't control himself. "Didn't know how trapped I was until I learned there was an escape hatch. Opened the hatch, but it was too late. She wanted me with _her,_ chained up like that chick in the stars. Too damn late to—"

Jackie crouched over his face and kissed him gently but deep. The soft movements of her tongue calmed him, focused him. "Slow down, baby," she said into his lips. "That's not a suggestion."

"Jackie..." He took a deep breath. "Jackie, what would you do if you could do whatever the hell you wanted without any consequences? No guilt either."

"Um..." She combed her fingers through his hair, and her light touch relaxed him a little. "Anything I wanted?"

"Don't hold back, doll."

She narrowed her eyes and nodded once. "I'd make love to you in front of my mom."

He arched an eyebrow. He hadn't expected to hear that.

Jackie continued. "She'd be tied up and gagged so she couldn't talk. And even if she closed her eyes, it wouldn't matter because I'd be loud. I'd want you to be loud, too—" the flat of her hand was sliding over his chest, up the side of his neck, down to his stomach, "saying things like how much you love me and no one else. How beautiful I am. How you'd rather make love to me than fuck any other woman."

"Kinky... and true." He reached for her face, ran his thumb softly down her cheek. "Got a reason?"

"My mom... She used to tell me how much Michael and 'Sven'—that's you—wanted her. God, she bragged so much after you saw her stupid boobs. Talked about how 'tense' she made you, how you got hard at the sight of her." Jackie shut her eyes, and revulsion passed over her face. "I really, _really_ hate her sometimes. Especially when she drinks. It makes her say such horrible things..."

"What was the worst?" he said.

"You really want to hear it?"

"Yeah."

Jackie sighed. "She was completely drunk when she said it—upset about us having to sell the piano, but..." She shifted into French. _"'I'd make him come harder than you ever could.'"_ Her voice was shaking, and her fist clenched on top of Hyde's shirt. Her knuckles were digging into his stomach, but he bore the pain silently. "My mom was talking about you," she said in English. "And, worse, she told me how she'd do it. Even mocked screaming out your name, which wasn't so bad since she kept saying 'Sven,' but still..."

With his unswollen eye, Hyde stared at the blue sky through the trees. Memories of the day he'd fucked Pam were flooding his system, taking on new meaning. He _had_ come hard, but only because Jackie had been standing there... beautiful and horrified.

"I wouldn't spill a damn drop for her," he said. "And I'm freakin' game if you wanna carry out your plan. I know where we can get a rope."

Jackie's expression softened into a smile. "No. Just that you'd say that..." she covered her heart, "it's enough."

"Why didn't you tell me your mom said that shit to you?"

"It's so gross, Steven." She wrinkled her nose. "I didn't even write it down in my diary. 'Dear diary, today my mom said she could make my ex-boyfriend come harder than I ever could.'" A lone, nervous chuckle escaped her. "Sure. If your stepdad had said that to you about me—"

"He wouldn't be breathing."

Hyde was still lying on his back in the dirt with Jackie partially on top of him. The Water Tower loomed overhead like a monolith, covered them in shadow—but he'd been in shadow for a long time. He still remembered Jackie's stiff, pale face in that hospital room three years ago. If that day had taken...

"'Ex-boyfriend'?" he said.

"We were broken up then. And even if we'd been together, you weren't like... the way you are today." She kissed the tender area beneath his swollen eye, and he choked down a gasp. "You've been so far away from me, baby. All I wanted was to keep you here." She lowered her head to the crook of his neck, and her tears began to wet his skin. "I don't know how to keep you here. It feels like you've been gone forever, and now you're..."

"Nuts?"

"I wasn't going to say that. I've only seen you afraid twice, but nothing like today."

"When?"

Jackie sniffled; her crying seemed to have calmed down. "After the nurse," she said. "And then after you learned about your real dad. I knew you were scared, which is why I kept pushing you to talk to him..." She lifted herself on her hands and stared directly into his right eye. "Is that what happened today? You found out you have a different mom—and you slept with her before you knew?"

"No!" He scowled. "You're freakin' sick."

She was smiling. "It's more explanation than you've given me."

"Jackie..." he let his hands slip off her hips to the dirt, "each day I wake up and it's September 8th— _today._ Nothing I do seems to matter. I've done bad shit, good shit... a ton of stupid shit I wish I hadn't done. And stuff I wish would fucking stick around, but I can't get to Goddamn tomorrow."

"Okay," she jabbed a finger at him, _"now_ I think you're nuts."

"Yeah, that's why I never told you. 1352 days, and I never told you."

"You really expect me to believe this, Steven? You sleeping with your own mother is more realistic."

"No, it's not. Look," he sat up in the dirt, cupped his hands around her arms, " _comment diable pensez-vous que je suis devenu couramment le français?"_ _How the hell do you think I became fluent in French?_

"One of your 'uncles' could've been French and taught you," she said.

"None of my 'uncles' stuck around long enough, Jackie, and the only French they knew how to do involved jamming their tongue down Edna's throat." He stood up and pulled her with him. "I took a class every damn day for two years. Also learned how to horseback ride. I can jump verticals."

"Hah!" She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head. "That I'd have to see."

He pointed to his swollen eye. "Probably won't let me ride with this."

"That's convenient. You wanna tell me why you're really afraid? I can handle it, Steven, no matter how bad it is."

"Living the same day over with no escape's almost as bad as it gets, Grasshopper." He walked toward the Vista Cruiser, and she followed him. "Only thing worse would be you not being here." He held out his hand once they got to the car door. "Keys."

"If you want to drive us somewhere, why don't we use Michael's car? It's so much nicer."

"The 'Cruiser's family."

"No, it's an inelegant, Eric-y jalopy," she said but dropped the keys into his palm.

They were sitting in the car moments later. Hyde started it up and kept it in park. "Haven't seen Forman in almost four years."

"He just left yesterday..." her brow furrowed, "though it does kinda feel longer." She drummed her fingers on the dashboard and clicked her tongue. "A lot longer."

He checked the time: 11:42 A.M. "'My Sharona' is playing on WFPP right now," he said. He flipped on the radio and tuned to the station:

" _...just a matter of time, Sharona. Is it just destiny, destiny? Or is it just a game in my mind, Sharona?"_

"Oh, whatever, Steven." She crossed her arms. "That's the top song. It on all the time."

"Fine," he said. "You pick a station, and I'll tell you what's playing."

"How long are you going to keep this up?" she said. "Because I'll wait all day and night until you tell me the truth." She was staring out the windshield now. The birch trees in front of them were swaying in the wind.

"It's the truth, man. And you'll get fed up eventually, _leave,_ and I'll wake up 'tomorrow' and have no fucking clue what to do next."

"How do you know I'll leave?" She turned to him. "If you've never told me about this before, how do you know what I'll do?"

He shrugged. "I don't. You've been pretty damn unpredictable this whole freakin' time—except for one thing." He grasped the radio dial. "'All the Things You Are,'" he said, "sung by Tony Martin." He tuned the radio to WLIP:

_"...day, my happy arms will hold you. And someday, I'll know that moment divine when all the things you are, are mine."_

The song finished, and the deep-voiced DJ came onto the radio. "'All the Things You Are,' a great rendition by Tony Martin. Originally written for the musical—"

_"Very Warm for May,"_ Hyde said with the DJ, "which had a very limited run on Broadway, but the song outliv—"

Jackie turned the volume down. "You set that up."

"Nope. Like I said, pick a station. Hell, we could go back to the baseme—your place, and I'll tell ya what's on TV, what commercials are on."

"WHAD," she said. "Try that one."

He checked the time again, 11:45 A.M. "Okay, the topic's gonna be about the railroad. Some douchebag's gonna get—fuck it. He's gonna say, 'There is no crisis. The Road officials like to whine because they're worried about their jobs, but it's going to be at least a year before they have to look for work.'" He switched the radio to WHAD and a man's curt voice said from the stereo:

"...no crisis. The Road officials like to whine because they're worried about their jobs, but it's going to be at least a year before they have to look for work. There's enough mon—"

She clicked off the radio. Her eyes were wide. "How did you know that?"

"I told you—this day keeps restarting. I've driven around a lot, listened to the same fuckin' shows over and over."

"What about me?" she said breathlessly. "What have I done?"

"Sometimes you found me in the basement at 9:14 A.M., said, 'I am so sorry about what happened in Chicago. I was alone, and I thought I lost you.'"

"Oh, my God." She covered her mouth. "Oh, my God." Then she slapped his thigh hard enough to sting. "Oh, my GOD!" She slapped his thigh again.

He grabbed her hand to stop the mini-beating. "What?"

"That—That is _exactly_ what I came up with on the drive back to Point Place this morning."

She ran shaky fingers through her hair, took a few trembling breaths. She was clearly trying to calm herself down, and that was another reason why he hadn't told her before: He didn't want her freaking.

"What else?" she said. "What else do you know about today?"

"At 1:45 P.M., the cops are gonna bust this really bad dude at the Le Motel."

"Who?"

"The Wisconsin Waster. Looks like Forman with glasses."

Jackie still hadn't gotten full control of her breathing. "Why—why were you at the Le Motel?"

"You don't wanna know."

"Yes, Steven, _I do._ "

"Well..." he cleared his throat, "on day 278, Donna got knifed by the guy."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah. Took me a few days, and one knife in the back, but I figured out who the guy was. So now I call up the Point Place P.D. every morning, tell 'em where and when to find him."

She gasped, "You're a hero!" and threw her arms around his neck.

"Hardly," he said, but she clung to him, dropping kisses on his ear, his sideburn, his temple. "You believe me?"

She loosened her grip. "No... I don't know. But I feel this tremendous relief—I can't explain it. I don't even know who this Waster-guy is."

"You were scared out of your mind that day, when Donna—"

"Don't talk about it anymore, okay?" She pointed to his face. "Your black eye, do you get that every day?"

He shook his head. "Been a rough year. Today's the first day in a long time I quit trying to off myself."

Hyde took the Vista Cruiser out of park, put it into drive. Time to leave the woods, man—and this conversation—not that he knew where to take either of 'em. The 'Cruiser scraped against a tree as it moved toward the dirt road. He looked at his side-view mirror. Some of the car's paint must have come off.

"Whatever," he muttered. "Be good as new 'tomorrow'."

"Is that what happens to you?" Jackie said. "You kill yourself and wake up 'good as new'?"

"Yeah."

They drove out of the woods in silence— _near_ -silence. Jackie was crying quietly into her hands. Hyde blew out an audible breath. Then he pulled over by the curb of Sycamore Avenue.

"Hey," he said and squeezed her shoulder, "you feel that, doll? Not dead."

She grabbed his hand and shoved him off. A fake smile overtook her face, darkening her features. "Y'know what? I think I'll swallow _all_ my mom's pills, drink all her tequilla, and die. Would ya like that, Steven?"

"Jackie..."

"No!"

"Jackie, listen—"

"No!" She threw a punch at his jaw, but he caught her fist. "How _dare_ you? _Don't you ever,_ _ _ever__ _hurt yourself like that again!_ "

He captured her other fist before it connected with his swollen eye. "Just calm down and freakin' listen for a second! If you were living through this hell, you'd do the same damn thing."

"No, I wouldn't!"

"You got no fucking clue."

"Don't tell me what I know and don't know." She freed her hands from him and twisted them in his shirt. "I would rather spend an _eternity_ with you, living the same day over and over, than a lifetime of days without you. Because _that_ is hell to me, Steven. Living without you. I thought I could do it, but I can't." Her shirt-covered knuckles pressed into his chest, near his heart. "So if there's the slightest chance what you're telling me is true, and you die, and it becomes tomorrow, and I'm left here without you—I won't be without you for long. Understand?"

He nodded as new terror joined the fear already coursing through his blood. The raw love in her voice shed a thick protective layer of his fundamental core. Underneath was something both seething and sunless, vulnerable... and dangerous because of that vulnerability.

He removed Jackie's hands from his shirt, took the car out of neutral, and resumed driving. "If I weren't here," he said, "you'd keep going. You'd have to."

"But you wouldn't be here to make me,"she said and jabbed his shoulder, "asshole."

"You'd keep going, Jackie."

She slammed her fist into the dashboard. "Why?"

"'Cause you give a shit about yourself, okay?"

"And you don't?"

He said nothing but turned onto Pine Avenue.

"That is such bull, Steven. You hate being in pain. People who don't care about themselves shouldn't care about that either."

"It's instinct, man. I avoid pain out of instinct..."

She didn't have a response to him except for fresh tears. He wanted to pull over again, but he doubted if she'd accept any of his comfort.

12:28 P.M.

Less than ten minutes later, they were at the hospital. Hyde was leading Jackie through the main entrance, and she said, "I thought you didn't want to come here."

"Gonna explain a few things to you at once," he said.

The hospital's chapel was on the first floor, across from the elevator bank. He peered through the chapel's glass door. No one seemed to be inside. _Good._ He wanted to keep this conversation private.

He brought Jackie into the chapel, and they sat in the pew farthest from the altar. The room was mostly white and brightly lit. He slipped on his shades for the first time today—the first time in over three-hundred days—and it made Jackie frown.

"Got the black eye from a fight," he said. "This selfish fuck never moves his car, and a pregnant woman dies because of it. She's died over a thousand times thanks to that fucker, and I usually knock him out before he has a chance to slug me, but my reflexes suck today." He sighed, tired of this story, tired of not being able to do shit to change it. "I always call an ambulance afterward... never gets there fast enough."

Jackie's face clouded over with confusion. "Why would you do that?"

"Someone's gotta. Everyone keeps passing them on the road. Mr. Hobart loses his wife, his ki—"

"No, why don't you just call the hospital from your motel room? Wouldn't that be faster?"

"Call from the..." Hyde's breath froze in his throat, and his blood frosted over in his veins. In all the days he'd tried to help the Hobarts, that idea never occurred to him. And no one else had come up with it. He wanted to tell her that, how damn smart she was, but his head felt like it was encased in ice

Jackie's fingers went to his temples and slid off his shades. He flinched at the sudden brightness around him. "You really are full of so much bull," she said, but a gentle smile graced her lips. "And so much love, Steven. Why are you keeping it from yourself?"

"What the hell makes me so damn special?"

"You're here," she said. "You exist."

"Maybe I shouldn't."

"Damn it, Steven, I lo—"

"Jackie... Steven?" Mrs. Forman had walked into the chapel with Mr. Hobart. "What are you doing here?"

"Crap." Hyde took back his shades, put them on. He stood, and Jackie stood with him, but Mr. Hobart wrapped his arms around Hyde's back and began to sob. "Crap..." he said again.

Mrs. Forman wrung her hands. "Oh... oh, um, this is so very, um... This is Mr. Hobart, Steven. His wife passed away a few hours ago."

"Thank God," Mr. Hobart said and cried into Hyde's shoulder. "Thank God for you."

Hyde patted Mr. Hobart's back awkwardly. "Crap."

Several minutes—though it felt like several hours—passed by before Mr. Hobart finally let him go. Neither Mrs. Forman or Jackie seemed to know what to do; they'd merely watched silently.

"This is the kid who gave a damn," Mr. Hobart said to Mrs. Forman.

"Steven? _My_ Steven? Oh, my goodness!" Mrs. Forman forced her own hug on him. "Oh, my wonderful, wonderful Steven! I don't know what Red was talking about."

" _Jackie, faites-moi sortir d'ici,_ " Hyde said. _Get me out of here._

"No."

" _Merde._ " He grasped Mrs. Forman's arms and pushed her back. "I gotta go," he said. Then he bolted from the chapel, but Jackie followed close behind.

"Stop running, Steven!"

He didn't waste time answering her. He jetted around a corner, avoided colliding with a guy on crutches, and made it to the outside.

The Vista Cruiser was in the visitor parking lot a block away. He headed for it, but Jackie's faint shout reached him through the air: "Steven, please! Don't leave me again!"

He slowed down. She caught up with him halfway down the block, out of breath.

"Why... did you... stop?" she said.

"Don't wanna hurt you anymore, Jackie."

"No, why did you stop..." She looked at his face as fresh tears joined those already on her cheeks. "Why'd you come to Point Place this morning instead of... you know..." Her finger drew an X over his heart. "You said you did it over three-hundred times. Why not three-thousand? Thirty-thousand?"

"It wasn't working," he said. "Got tired of it."

Her crying dried up suddenly. She nodded and held out her hand. "Keys."

"What for?"

"You can't drive right now. You've only got one eye."

"I got us here just fine," he said.

"We've got a long way to go," she said and re-presented her waiting hand. "I don't trust you to get us there in one piece."

He crossed his arms, though he wasn't angry with her. Just... terrified. It took whatever remaining willpower he had not to crumble into a fucking heap and scream like a lunatic. "Already been to Stevens Point with you."

Her eyes widened, "I brought you to..." then they closed closed, and her lungs took in a heavy breath. "No, we're going somewhere else." She presented her waiting hand a third time. "Keys."

"Whatever." He gave her the keys.

They were in the 'Cruiser and on the road two minutes later. Their first stop was a deli. Neither of them had eaten yet, and it was almost one o'clock. Jackie made him pay for a few sandwiches and some pops. She also warned him that if he left her sight today, she'd hunt him down and and kill him herself.

He didn't doubt it.

They ate lunch in the car. His appetite was non-existent, but he forced himself to eat—actually, _she_ forced him. She'd pinched his arm until he took a bite of his sandwich. By 1:13 P.M., they were back on their way to... wherever. He didn't ask where she was driving them. It didn't matter. He had nothing else to do today.

2:24 P.M.

The conversation grew typically "Jackie" as she drove them into Illinois. She chattered on about some shampoo she saw in a catalog, asked him how many showers he'd taken in the thirteen hundred days. Said if she'd been trapped, she would've tried "whole bunches of products on my skin and hair. I'd finally find out which ones are _really_ the best products for me without damaging my delicate beauty."

2:55 P.M.

When they passed into Indiana, she said, "You know how I keep a diary?" He nodded. "Know when I started writing in one?" He shook his head. "I was nine, and the first entry I wrote was, 'I hate my life!' And I crossed it out right after. Yeah, and then I wrote something under it like, 'I get so many wonderful presents from Daddy, and my mom always throws parties for me...'"

She let out a single, quiet laugh. "I'd do that a lot, write something negative then scratch it out. I thought I was crazy, you know? Because I felt so bad, but I didn't know why. It was like I couldn't even have my own thoughts."

"Mind-fuck," Hyde said.

"What?"

"It's like you were being whipped, and your body got all these welts," he said. "But the belt was covered in damn flowers, so you didn't know what was really hitting you. And your body was dressed up in fancy clothes, so you couldn't see the red marks. But you still felt 'em."

Jackie fell silent and stayed that way for over three hours, until they drove into Michigan. "You were my way out, Steven. I tried to make Michael into something he wasn't—to make him safe for me—but we both had whips, same as my..." Her head seemed to shake the thought away. "You never let me do that to you. You were always strong and honest. If I'd never met you, I would've ended up with another Michael—or someone worse. I wouldn't have known real love."

"Yeah, you would've."

"No,I wouldn't have. I had no idea what love was." She glanced at him. "You always, _always_ considered me and how I'd feel—even when you probably didn't want to. And when you didn't know how to help me, you did whatever you could to figure it out. Ever since you brought me to Junior Prom..." She sighed, as if clearing her mind. "And then it stopped. This last year, I thought you'd fallen out of love with me."

"No. Just forgot how to love... if I ever fucking knew."

"Steven, you _are_ love."

"Would you shut the hell up?"

The volume of his own voice shocked him, causing shame to burn at the back of his neck. He hadn't meant to yell, but his control was almost all gone. His hands itched to unbuckle his seatbelt and open the 'Cruiser's door—so he'd fly onto the highway and get pulverized by oncoming traffic. Instead, he stared into the rearview mirror. An oil truck was reflected next to the bottom half of Jackie's face. She was frowning.

He managed to scrape a few words together. "Sorry. Not pissed at you."

"I know, but no more talking." She pointed to the rearview mirror. "Don't like that truck behind us."

He leaned his head back on the seat. Jackie was something else.

7:48 P.M.

Jackie didn't say much for the rest of the ride. The oil truck eventually took an exit, and the Vista Cruiser eventually reached Rochester Hills—six-and-a-half hours from Point Place.

Night had fallen, so the city was mostly in the dark. But from what Hyde could see in the lamppost light, the place was well-off. Some tall buildings, a good amount of large houses, lots of trees. Roads with names like "Enchantment Drive" and "Bliss Drive".

They pulled up to a decent-sized house on Shirewood Drive minutes later, and Jackie shut the 'Cruiser off. Hyde was a bit stunned. She hadn't looked at a map the whole trip, same as when she'd taken him to Stevens Point.

Once they were out of the car, he said, "How many times have you driven here?"

"This is my first time." She led him to the house's front door. The porch lights weren't on; a lamppost lit the way. "But I've studied the directions a whole lot. My memory's flawless, just like my beauty."

He couldn't help but smirk. "And your humility."

"The beautiful don't need humility," she said and rang the doorbell. But her hand gripped his tightly as they waited. Her breathing had grown shallow—she was clearly afraid, and Hyde pressed his lips softly to her cheek.

"Don't know why you brought me here," he whispered, "but I won't leave."

"Promise?" she whispered back.

"Yeah."

The click of opening locks made Jackie strengthen her grip on his hand. The door opened slowly, and a sliver of light shone from the crack. The sliver widened into a ray, then into a large door-sized rectangle. Standing there in the light, wearing gray slacks and a casual shirt, was Jack Burkhart.

Jackie's father.


	20. Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. _L'âme en fleur_ by Victor-Marie Hugo.

CHAPTER 20  
 **REVELATION**

"Kitten?"

Jack Burkhart glanced down at Jackie on the doorstep, and clear shock registered on his face. Hyde was feeling the same way. Mainly because he hadn't expected Jackie's father to be out of prison—she hadn't said a word about him being released. Also, that she'd actually driven them to see the guy. Never figured __that__ would happen, man. Not in a million September 8ths.

"My God, you've finally forgiven me," Mr. Burkhart said and approached her for a hug, but she put up her hands.

"Can we come in, Dad?" she said. "It's been a long drive."

His thick, graying mustache twitched above his mouth. "Of course, of course."

He led them inside the house, past the well-lit foyer and into a large living room. No piano, but a pricey-looking couch sat on the soft carpet. A matching loveseat and overstuffed chair joined it. Paintings with gilded frames hung on the walls, and on pedestals stood a Chinese vase and a bust of some chick.

The room reminded Hyde of the Burkharts' Mansion before Mr. Burkhart got nabbed for embezzlement. It even had a marble fireplace, only the pictures on the mantle weren't of Jackie and her mother—but of Mr. Burkhart, a chubby brunette, and two kids.

"Kitten, I'm so glad you came to visit me," Mr. Burkhart said and opened his arms again for a hug.

Jackie ignored the gesture. She sat on the loveseat, pulling Hyde onto it with her. "Where's Aunt Elizabeth?" she said and crossed her legs—a sign of self-protectiveness, Hyde knew. He laced his fingers between hers as a sign of support and solidarity.

"Oh, she and the children are visiting with your grandmother," Mr. Burkhart said and sat in the overstuffed chair. He leaned back with his arms on the rests, like he was trying to appear relaxed, but he didn't look relaxed at all. "How are you?"

"So you care now?" Jackie's voice was resolute, but Hyde felt her fear—or was it rage?—through her hand.

Mrs. Burkhart's face didn't seem to register her response, but his legs crossed at the ankles, and his fingers squeezed the armrests. "I've always cared, sweetheart. Just because I went to prison doesn't mean I stopped." He gestured in Hyde's direction. "What happened to your eye, son?"

Hyde touched the bridge of his nose. __Damn it.__ No shades. He'd forgotten to put them on. His swollen left eye seemed a little better. He could open it a crack. "Well—"

"Steven's a hero, Dad," Jackie answered for him. "A _real_ one. Like I used to think you were."

Mr. Burkhart raised his hands defensively. "Now that's an unfair view of things, Kitten. One mistake does not erase twenty years of hard, honest work."

An incredulous snort ripped from Hyde's nose. __Honest?__ The man was like any other politician, corrupt and dining off the backs of the masses. But Hyde kept his trap shut. This was Jackie's fight, not his.

"I wasn't talking about you being in prison," she said. "I was talking about __my whole life.__ Where were you, huh? My seventh birthday party? My eighth? How about my and thirteenth and fourteenth? Or when I was in Swan Lake and I won that award for Prettiest Ballerina?"

"I was busy making the money to pay for the presents you got on those birthdays. To pay for your ballet lessons. And I bought you a gold pendant, _ _24 carats,__ after you won the ballerina award, isn't that right? You used to wear that necklace around your neck all the time." Mr. Burkhart sounded like a self-satisfied moron, and Hyde wanted to knock his teeth in—but he merely shifted his weight on the loveseat.

Mr. Burkhart continued. "I made damn sure you'd never feel deprived, sweetheart. If you asked me for an expensive dress, you got it. If you wanted a pair of diamond earrings, they were yours. That's why I worked so hard, sacrificed—"

"Sacrificed?" Jackie took her hand away from Hyde's and clutched the loveseat cushion. "You embezzled sixty thousand dollars from our hometown! How much could you have been 'sacrificing'?"

Mr. Burkhart clenched his jaw and didn't answer.

"What were you really doing on those business trips, huh?" she said. "You were gone for over half my childhood, not even counting your stay at the Fox Lake Correctional Institution. I wanted a father, not a pony..." She lowered her gaze then raised it again. "Okay, I wanted both, but I would've given up Pegasus for a dad in a heartbeat."

Some of the arrogance in Mr. Burkhart's eyes crumbled, and Hyde finally spotted shame.

Jackie shook her head. "Why did you embezzle the money, Dad? Why? I know city councilmen don't get a high salary, but didn't your rich clients pay you enough? Your businesses?"

"No," Mr. Burkhart said.

"Why not?"

"Expenses add up, Jackie, and providing for a family isn't cheap—"

"No!" She stood up from the loveseat. "Do you even love me?"

Mr. Burkhart stood up, too. "Of course I do."

"Then tell me the truth!" she said. "Why were you away all the time? Were you cheating on Mom?"

"Yes."

Hyde frowned, though he wasn't surprised. Pam Burkhart's insecurity about being old made a lot more sense now. Her husband was probably nailing chicks half her age, if not younger.

"Did you ever love her?" Jackie said.

"I always will," Mr. Burkhart said. He reached out his hand, "She gave birth to you," and tried to stroke Jackie's cheek.

She flinched away from him. "Who was she? Or was it __they?"__

His arm fell to his side, and he backed off. "It's both. She... and they."

Hyde glanced at the fireplace, but Jackie's voice brought his attention straight back to her. "Who?" she said. Tears had finally risen in her eyes, but the set to her jaw was determined. "If you ever want to see me again, you'll tell me."

"If I tell you, I never __will__ see you again."

But she clearly wasn't having it. Her arms were crossed, and she was giving Mr. Burkhart her won't-back-down glare. Hyde knew the look well.

Silently, Mr. Burkhart took a framed picture off the fireplace mantle and gave it to her.

"Aunt Elizabeth?" She was staring, wide-eyed, at the photo

"She's not your aunt, Jackie."

"My cousins?" Her hands were shaking.

"Jackson and Keith are your half-brothers."

"Oh, my God..." The picture frame slipped from her fingers and crashed to the floor. "OH, MY GOD!"

Hyde got to his feet and touched her shoulder. He'd guessed the truth about thirty seconds before Mr. Burkhart gave her the picture. "Jackie," Hyde said.

She turned around, wrapped her fists in his shirt, and pulled herself flush against his body, as if she were trying to bury herself inside him "Stev—Steven," her voice was trembling, "get me out of here, baby. Get me out of here. I need to—no." She let go of him and turned back to her father.

"Kitten—" Mr. Burkhart said, and Jackie's open hand shot out and struck his face. Nineteen years of anger had to be behind it, and Hyde didn't blame her at all.

"You bastard!" she shouted. "You didn't only cheat on mom but on __me!__ How could you do this?"

"I'm in love with her," Mr. Burkhart said, rubbing his cheek. "I have been since—well, since I was a boy in prep school. But Liz... she's a homespun woman. Pam was better for my career." A small, pathetic laugh escaped him. "You know what your mother's like, how she charms people."

"You had me for your career, didn't you? Didn't you?" Jackie was full-on crying, and Hyde stood behind her with his hands on her hips—just so she knew he was there.

Mr. Burkhart nodded. "Originally, yes. But once I held you in my arms, Jackie, I never wanted to let you go. You were my first child—"

"Now I know why I never had any brothers or sisters... You were too busy making them with 'Aunt' Elizabeth." She wiped her eyes and hooked her wet fingers over Hyde's. "Does Mom know?"

"Only about Liz," Mr. Burkhart said. He was standing by a pedestal now, the one with the Chinese vase. "She thinks the kids are from some other man."

"Unbelievable. No wonder Mom drinks. She actually loved you!"

"I've made some lousy choices in my life, I admit it. But if I'd married Elizabeth instead of your mother, you wouldn't have been born, Kitten." He peered down at his shirt sleeves and straightened his cuffs. "So I'm not sorry."

"Are you sorry you weren't there?"

He hesitated. "Yes."

"I never felt good enough for you, do you know that? I kept wondering why you weren't around, if I'd done something to keep you away."

"Jackie, if I didn't love you, why would I have bought you that little mink coat for your sixth birthday? Or the custom-made music box after your Confirmation? Or what about the fa—"

"Love isn't things, man. It's freakin' time," Hyde said. He couldn't keep quiet anymore, and he hugged Jackie from behind. "It's giving a crap—not a damn car—when she's crying. It's not neglecting the hell outta one of your kids 'cause you got a few more stashed somewhere." His voice didn't hide his contempt. Jack Burkhart was an asshole, and he would've decked the guy had Jackie not been there. "She deserved better than you, man."

Jackie slipped her fingers around Hyde's wrists and squeezed, but her face was completely focused on her father. "You and Mom made me feel so small, meaningless. But I mean a lot—to myself, to Steven. My friends. The Formans. They love me, _all of them._ "

"So do I," Mr. Burkhart said, but she didn't seem to care.

"My gaze is like the stars, Dad, and they recognize how lucky they are I shine it on them. You missed out." She turned around in Hyde's arms and caressed his cheek softly. "Isn't that right, Puddin'?"

"Yup." Hyde cleared his throat and pushed through the embarrassment blocking his full answer. "Like an angel revealing itself,"he said in French, "you looked at me in my night with your lovely star-gaze, which shone on me." They were the last four lines of the Victor Hugo poem, and she smiled—almost entranced—as he recited it. Some part of her must have remembered him reciting it before, almost a year of September 8ths ago.

"Steven, that's so beautiful," she said in French. "Is that something you learned in the last 'two years'?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry." Mr. Burkhart's voice was shaking, and his face was flushed. "I'm so sorry. I don't want to lose you, Kitten."

Jackie turned toward him again. "I don't even know you," she said in English. "And you don't know _me._ You never did."

"I'd like to."

"Not today..." She shrugged, overdoing it for emphasis. "Maybe tomorrow." Then she took Hyde's hand and led him out of the house.

Mr. Burkhart didn't follow. But the porch lights came on, lighting their way.

* * *

The Vista Cruiser was waiting for them in the driveway like a loyal dog. Hyde would have preferred the Camino, but the 'Cruser was a close second.

"Take them," Jackie said and gave him the keys. He opened the passenger door for her; then he got into the car on the driver's side. "Get us the hell away from here," she said.

He began to drive, though it being night and him having only one good eye made him go slower than usual. If it had only been himself in the car, he wouldn't have cared. He'd have driven fast and hard—and if he smashed into a tree, whatever. "Tomorrow" was another damn day.

But he had Jackie with him. Putting her in danger wasn't gonna happen.

"You okay?" he said.

She groaned. "Can't you go any faster?"

He understood. They hadn't even left Shirewood Drive yet. Her father's house was still in view. He pressed on the gas a little, and she broke into hysterical sobs the moment they turned onto Pinewood Drive. The strength she'd shown inside the house had finally given way to the emotion underneath.

He pulled the 'Cruiser over on Mackwood Road, a few streets away, but Jackie didn't seem to notice. She was curled up against the passenger-side door, crying into her knees. Wordlessly, he unfastened his seatbelt, then hers. No response.

"Hey," he said and scooted over to her. He slipped his arm around her shuddering back, and she finally responded by twisting around and burying her face in his chest.

Crickets were chirping loudly in the grass beside the road. He wasn't sure what to say, didn't want to make things worse, but she deserved better than than a bunch of insects for comfort.

"Jackie," he said softly, "you're so fuckin' brave, man."

She looked up at him, tears spilling from her eyes, nose a snotty heap. "Really?"

"Yeah." He slid his palm over her cheek so his fingertips rested by her ear. She was also the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, a crying mess or otherwise. "Why'd you decide to come here today?"

"Because..." She sniffled, and he grabbed some napkins from the glove compartment. She blew her nose before speaking again. "Because if you're really reliving this day over, then I could ask my dad anything—without any consequences, without losing him." A sad smile swept across her face. "But I never really had him, did I?"

"Not even half," he said, and she lowered her head back to his chest.

"Part of me... part of me hopes to God today _does_ go away," she said through her sobs, "and I wake up tomorrow not knowing about 'Aunt' Elizabeth or my cousins who're really my half-brothers." She took in a deep breath, and Hyde began to rub her back. "But the rest of me is relieved. My life finally makes sense now, y'know? All those childhood dreams, I know where they came from."

She peered up at him again and grasped the material of his Stones shirt, by his heart. "I don't need those dreams anymore, Steven. I need what's real."

He nodded. He was someone who'd never had many dreams, except maybe to get away from Edna and move in with the Formans— and that one came true. But beyond that? Anything he could have dreamed of never seemed possible, so what was the point? He was who he was, he had what he had, and nothing would change that. It was what he'd believed for most of his life...

And the cosmos seemed intent on proving him right.

"If today doesn't count," she said, "will you remember what happened?"

"Yeah... and you will, too. Not in your head, but somewhere."

He glanced out the passenger-side window. They were shrouded in almost complete darkness. The dark never bothered him. As a kid, he used to wander the streets of Point Place at night because Edna had kicked him out. Usually, he ended up at Forman's, caught some sleep on the basement couch. Then he'd wander back to his house before the sun had completely risen—'cause half the time, Edna didn't remember she booted him into the night. And she'd get pissed if he were gone, the nutbag.

"Steven?" Jackie said, and his focus returned to her.

"You think you'll ever wanna see your dad again?" he said.

"I don't know." She let her hand slide down his stomach to the 'Cruiser's seat. "If tomorrow really does wipe today away, and I forget about his secret freakin' life—I want you to promise me you'll make me come back here. Even if I don't wanna see him... because I need to know the truth. So promise me you'll do that, Steven. I won't hate you for it."  
 _  
_He leaned in and kissed the top of her forehead. "I promise."

9:07 P.M.

Hyde ended up driving them to the Titan Motel, about twenty minutes away. Their room was nicer than the one at the Shooting Star Motel—no dingy walls or pitted ceiling, but it wasn't as nice as the motel in Stevens Point.

He brought the extra sandwiches they'd gotten from the Point Place deli, but Jackie didn't seem in the mood to eat. She'd gone straight to the bathroom, and now she was sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes staring glumly at the teal rug.

He sat next to her, draped his arm around her shoulders, which prompted her to speak.

"Did this ever happen before? Me seeing my dad, learning all this?"

"No."

"So different things can happen on September 8th," _she said._

"Yeah. Sometimes the smallest change in something I do makes a ton of other shit happen." He ran a hand over his face, careful not to touch his swollen eye. "It's freakin' trippy, man."

"Then you're not really reliving the same day over."

"Huh?"

She slid her hand down his thigh, clutched his knee, and looked up at him "If different things happen depending on what you do, Steven, it's not the same day. It may have the same date, but..." She was nodding. "You can change things, change __people.__ Do you think I would've come here on the second September 8thif you'd told me what you told me today?"

"Probably not."

"So no more of this—" she drew her second X over his heart, "okay? Because what you're doing matters, even if we can't remember it."

"Jackie..." He closed his right eye; the left was still closed thanks to the swelling.

A slap to his chest made him open the right one again. "No," she said and jabbed a finger in his face. "No more shutting down. How did it feel when you learned about your real dad?"

"Like total crap."

"But you got something good."

"Look, it's one thing to be fucked and know there wasn't any avoiding it. But finding out about W.B., I—" He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yeah, not talking about this, Jackie."  
 _  
_She slammed her fist into his thigh. "Oh, yes, you are!"

"Damn it!" He got off the bed and covered his stones. "Cuttin' it close, there."

She stood up with him. "Finish your freakin' sentence, Steven, or I'll kick you even closer."

"Whatever," he said and turned his back on her... for about three seconds. Then he faced her again and threw up his hands. "I was fucked and didn't have to be, okay? They screwed me, and now I am who the hell I am, and I could've been..."

She hugged him around the waist. "What, baby? You could've been what?"

"Perfect, I guess. That's what you'd fuckin' called it."

"When?"

"Uh... day 279."

"I was an idiot." She hugged him tighter, pressing her face against his chest. "I'm sorry."

"You're apologizing for something you didn't even do, man. It got wiped out."

"But if there's a chance I did say it..." She sighed. "I don't need you to be anything other than who you are, Steven, because you're enough. You are. You're enough..." she loosened her grip around him, "and you're shaking."

"It's cold in here," he said, but she was right. He was shaking. "Crap." He sunk back down to the bed's thick comforter, lowered his face to his hands. The terror coursing through him since he awoke had been joined by a visceral anger. "I gotta find them."

She rubbed his back softly. "Who?"

"A couple of people I never wanted to see again."

10:12 P.M.

Hyde and Jackie had managed to eat a whole sandwich between them and drink down a couple of pops. They were stripped to their underclothes now and in the bed. Both were too exhausted to do much but use their mouths—and those they were using for talking _._

"I feel like I keep losing you," Jackie said. She was lying in the crook of his arm. "I don't wanna wake up tomorrow and not have you with me."

"It's gonna happen, doll. If I knew how to fucking stop it, I would."

"Then take me with you when you find your mom," she said, and he got out a syllable before being interrupted. "Don't argue with me. You shouldn't have to do it alone. At my dad's—you were wonderful, Puddin'. I wanna be wonderful for you." _  
_  
"You've been great almost every damn day..." he said, and a chuckle left him for the first time in almost a year, "except for when you got us killed."

She gasped and sat up. "I did? What did I do?"

"You punched me while I was driving... and we crashed into a telephone pole."

"Oops." She started to giggle. "Did you earn it?"

"Yeah."

She giggled harder and dropped her forehead to his shoulder. He closed his arms around her back, and the feeling of her bouncing breath rushed into him, snuffing out the terror wracking his nervous system. "Fuck, Jackie..." His throat was constricting, but he forced the words through. "This is all I want... what we're having here... right this fuckin' second."

"Then come back to me, baby,"she said and eased her palm up the side of his neck. "Just come back." Her fingertips looped into his curls, and her lips left a soft kiss just below his sideburn. "Stop hating yourself and hurting yourself and come back."

"You keep asking me to do that."

"Just try it... please." She kissed him again, this time on the mouth. He wanted to deepen the kiss, but she pulled away before he could. "Forigve yourself for whatever it is you think you've done."

He cupped her face and looked into her pleading eyes. "I'll give it a shot."

But how the hell did a guy forgive himself for existing?


	21. More than Déjà Vu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER 21  
 **MORE THAN DÉJÀ VU**

"Hello?"

"W.B., I need your help, man."

"Steven?"

Hyde gripped the motel room's phone tightly. He'd awoken clear-headed. His left eye was no longer swollen and bruised, and Jackie was no longer with him. The familiar dingy walls of the Shooting Star Motel had returned to keep him company.

"I gotta find Bud," he said into the phone. "Today."

"Why, son? Did something happen?"

"Kinda. I really gotta see him today, but I have no clue where he is."

W.B. paused. Then, "All right. I've got a friend, Patrick. He's a retired detective. Maybe he can help you out. Let me just get a pen here..." Another pause with some shuffling. "Okay, give me everything you know about Bud, and I'll pass it along to Pat soon as we hang up."

"Um... his real name's Steven James Hyde the Second. His favorite beer is any he can get for free."

"Uh-huh. What else?"

Hyde stared at nothing in particular and drummed his fingers on the nightstand. "That's about it."

"Well, that's not a lot to go on," W.B. said. "Where did you last see him?

"Passed out on the hood of my car about five ye—a year-and-a-half ago."

A loud sigh came through the receiver. "Okay, how about his date of birth, social security number?"

"His birthday's in February. The 18th or 19th, I think," Hyde said. "And I don't even know my own social security number."

"The year?"

"He's... fuck. I don't know how old he is. Edna's thirty-eight, so maybe forty? Forty-two?"

"Steven, is there anyone you know who has better information? Because Patrick's gonna take one listen at what I've written down and laugh in my ear. How about that uncle of yours? The one you like?"

"Chet? Yeah, he probably knows some shit."  
 _  
_"Why don't you call him up?" _  
_

"He's in prison."

"Oh..." W.B. sounded like he was frowning. "Okay, I'll phone Patrick and see what he can do."

"No, wait," Hyde said. "I'll call you 'tomorrow' with more."

"Tomorrow? I thought you needed to see Bud today?"

"I do—it's complicated, man. Just... it'll be fine. I'll call you 'tomorrow,' okay?"

"Sure, son. Sure. Take care."

Hyde hung up the phone. He'd already made his usual calls to Donna and the Point Place P.D., but he'd forgotten to call the ambulance for the Hobarts and try out Jackie's theory. He was already in the Camino by the time he remembered. His mind was too preoccupied, had been too focused on finding Bud. But by 8:26 A.M., he made it to the Hobarts on Green Bay Road.

Chad didn't have a chance today. Even after repeating this brawl countless times, he never seemed to learn, and Hyde knocked him unconscious in record time—without Hyde getting more than a scrape.

Almost a half-hour later, at nine o'clock-exactly, Hyde walked into Forman's basement.

"Hyde, oh, my God, you're here!" Donna said from her usual spot on the couch.

"Yup." He turned off the TV, cutting short the __Looney Tunes__ theme song, and sat down next to her. "Wanna go on a road trip?"

She laughed. "What?"

"I gotta go to Chicago."

"Didn't you just come from there?"

"Sorta... It's not about Jackie," he said, defusing the smile that burst on her lips. "Like I said on the phone, we're fine. This is about my uncle Chet."

"Wait, I still don't quite get what happened. What did Jackie—"

He waved a hand in front of her face. "Donna, would you freakin' focus? I gotta go visit Chet in prison. And Jackie wouldn't want me to go alone, and I don't wanna bring her, so...?"

"Sure. What the hell?"

"Cool." He looked at his watch. 9:02...03.

She stood up. "What should I bring?"

"A thick sweatshirt," he said. "You don't want a prison boyfriend."

"Okay." She was already at the basement door. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Hey, could ya make a couple of sandwiches and grab a few pops, too? Haven't eaten yet."

She nodded, and then she was gone.

Hyde went to Forman's stereo and searched the stack of records beside it. __Welcome to the Grand Illusion__ by Styx started up half-a-minute later. He had some time to kill before Jackie got there, and watching _Looney Toons_ for the four-hundredth time wasn't gonna happen.

9:14 A.M.

He was lying down on the couch, fingers laced over his stomach, when Jackie and Donna entered the basement together—and Jackie tackled him immediately.

"Steven, oh, my God!" She straddled his hips, bent over him, and supported herself on his shoulders. "Donna said you were here! And she said you forgave me, and she said you loved me, but—"

He buried his hands in her hair, drew her face down, and shut her up with his mouth. The kiss was both deep and long, and he tried to communicate everything he felt for her through it.

"Wow," she said when they parted, but her dazed eyes sharpened quickly. "Some biker-skank isn't about to walk in through the door, is she?"

"No," he said and sat up with her. "But I can't stick around."

"What?"

"I'll be back in a few hours. Gonna go visit Uncle Chet."

"Oh," she said softly, but her disappointment was loud and clear.

Donna presented the Marquette University sweatshirt she was wearing. "Yeah, I've gotta look like Big Rhonda to keep from driving the inmates wild with lust."

"Wait, you're taking Donna?" Jackie said.

"Would you wear a freakin' sweatshirt like that?" he said.

"No."

He nodded. "You've made my point, man. Don't wanna end up dead for throwing a punch at the prisoners, okay? Can't deal with 'em saying shit to you."

"Oh, Steven!" Jackie flung her arms around his shoulders. "You really still love me?"

_"Avec tout ce que j'ai,_ _"_ he whispered. _With everything I've got. _  
__ _ _  
__She kissed him back in response. Her fingers hooked into the curls at the nape of his neck, her hips pressed up against him, and the sweet taste of her lips and tongue tempted him to skip Chicago and just take her into his room. Three years without sex, four years without her...

He forced himself to pull away before he hit the point of no-return. Then he slid the eyeball ring off his pinky and dropped it into her hand. "We'll continue this later, doll."

She looked up at him as he stood. "You promise?"

"Yeah," he said and shut off Forman's stereo. That was the third promise he'd made to her in two days. The first he'd already fulfilled. The second was bringing her back to Rochester Hills so she could re-learn about her father's other life. Like always, her conscious memory of yesterday seemed to be wiped out, but he had no intention of breaking any more promises to her.

She was watching him from the couch. "What am I supposed to do while you're gone?"

"Kelso and Fez'll be here in the driveway about a half-hour," he said. "Go bowling with 'em or something."

"You trust me with Michael?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "Shouldn't I?"

Her mouth opened silently, as if she couldn't believe what she'd just heard.

"Jackie, everything's cool." He sat back on the couch, grasped her wrist gently, and traced a smiley face onto her palm. "Okay?"

"O-okay."

He gave her one last kiss then walked over to Donna, who was standing by the basement door. He took the bright blue canvas bag she was carrying. "Sandwiches?"

"And soda," Donna said.

"Good. I'm fuckin' starved." He grabbed the doorknob but glanced back at Jackie. His eyeball ring dangled loosely from her fingertip, and she was staring at her palm. "Grasshopper, quit worrying, " he said and opened the door. He hoped the nickname would be enough to get through to her.

"Were you listening to Styx?" Donna said on their way up the stone stairs.

Hyde had taken out a sandwich and stuffed a third of it in his mouth. "How do __you__ know it was Styx?" he said, but it sounded more like, "Hobu __yoo__ mo mitmas Mix?"

"I'm in love with Eric. How wouldn't I know?"

He allowed himself a slight smile. "Bammit."

They were inside the Camino two minutes later, and he pulled out of the driveway soon as he'd gulped down half a pop.

Donna turned on the radio and tuned it to WFPP. "Hello, I Love You" by The Doors was playing, which meant it was 9:27 A.M.

"Why _were_ you listening to Styx?" she said after a while.

"Made the basement feel more Forman-y," he said and drove onto Wilmot Road.

His answer didn't make Donna frown, which was a relief. Last thing he wanted to do was kick up painful crap for her. Instead, she took out a sandwich from her bag and said, "Feels like he's been gone a lot longer than a few hours, doesn't it?"

"More like four years."

She chuckled. "Maybe it's the change in time zone he's experiencing."

"Yeah... maybe."

Donna started to eat her sandwich and fell silent. After a nice belch from her Coke, she said, "So, you ready to tell me what happened in Chicago? I had no time to find out from Jackie."

"Sure." Hyde was driving on the highway now, at the speed limit. He wanted to get to the prison as soon as freakin' possible. "Found Jackie with a mostly-naked Kelso," he said, "pre-doin' it. I lost it, man. Like, really lost it."

"Wait..." Donna's reflection froze in the rearview mirror. "Then why were you so lovey-dovey with Jackie in the basement? If I'd found Eric with some other girl, I'd wanna rip his balls off."

"The situation ain't that simple," he said. "Jackie was scared shitless. After everything that went down between us this last year, she was just trying to keep from imploding."

"I don't care. I don't."

"Yeah, well, if Forman quit tellin' you he loved you, broke a damn promise, didn't go to something important like a celebration for your promotion at the radio station..." He sighed. "Look, man, I basically showed Jackie I didn't love her anymore—which was bullshit, but I did it, okay? I was an asshole to her for a year, and she still wanted me, still wanted to fuckin'..." He shoved the thought aside. "Whatever. Even if she __had__ nailed Kelso, I would've forgiven her anyway."

"Did you cheat on her again?" Donna said. "Is that what happened? Because that's the only thing that makes sense. Either that, or you're as baked as a pie."

He hesitated. He had cheated on Jackie—with Donna over three years ago. But even if he hadn't, he would've forgiven Jackie all the same for screwing Kelso. "She was terrified and in pain," he said. "Some things just need to be forgiven."

"Huh." She was staring at him. "You've really changed."  
 _  
_"Not enough."

The conversation trickled down to nothing as he continued to drive along the interstate. But once they were about fifteen minutes from Chicago, Donna said, "Y'know, I don't think I ever met your uncle before."

"Yeah, he didn't like to stick around in one place too much. When I was a kid, he'd motor into town, maybe stay a night or three—then he was outta there." A small smile crept onto Hyde's lips, and he let it be. "We'd hang out, play some ball. He'd sneak me into bars, that kinda shit. Always brought me something or bought me something, always sent birthday and Christmas presents before he got busted. Even if it was only a stolen pack of baseball cards, he never forgot."

"Your mom let him do all that?" she said.

He nodded at the approaching memory. "If Edna got to the mail before me, she hid or destroyed anything Chet sent me, letters, presents. She never liked him, probably 'cause he was the only guy who wouldn't fuck her."

"Is that why she called all the skeevy men she slept with 'uncles,' in honor of the one 'who got away'?"

Hyde laughed. "Could be, man."

Donna smoothed down her sweatshirt. Then she pulled out two hair bands from her pocket, held them between her lips, and began to braid her hair. "I think it's sweet you're visiting him," she said through her partially closed mouth.

"Uh... not really doin' it for a 'sweet' reason actually."

"Then why?"

"I wanna find Bud.".

"What?" she said. "I thought you never wanted to see him again."

"I didn't. I don't... but it's gotta be done. I have no idea where he is, and I need Chet's help."

11:07 A.M.

They had arrived at the prison. It took a half-hour to process them, but Hyde had brought only his driver's license with him—leaving his wallet, lighter, lock pick, and shades in the Camino—so nothing of his was confiscated. Now he and Donna were sitting in the visitor's waiting area, a gray-bricked hallway lined with wooden benches. Other than the cops wandering around, Hyde was the only man here. Everyone else was a kid or a chick, waiting to see a husband, son, father, or whatever.

Donna didn't seem freaked out about being in the prison, except for the fact she was sitting flush against him on the bench. As far as he knew, it was her first time in the clink. Some discomfort made total sense. He wasn't thrilled to be here himself.

"Hyde?" she said and patted his knee. "I've got, like, a ton of questions, but I know you hate questions, so I'll only ask one."

He had to smirk. She was as nosy as Jackie was a gossip. "You planning on writing a newspaper article about this?"

"No, I'm just curious. You've been acting so..."

"Nuts?"

"Different," she said. "It's almost like you've been on a two-year retreat to find yourself or something."

"More like a four-year 'retreat' into hell," he muttered. "What's your question?"

"Um... why was Chet put in jail?"

"Aggravated robbery," he said. "Seven years. He's served four."

12:00 P.M.

They were finally let into the visiting room, which was being monitored by blue-unformed wardens. Inmates in their tan jumpsuits were sitting at round tables with their mothers, wives, children. At a table in the back sat a guy who looked like a worn version of Bud, with blonder hair and thick sideburns like Hyde's.

"Is that him?" Donna whispered, and Hyde nodded.

A warden guided them toward the table, and Donna grasped Hyde's hand as they walked there. His uncle Chet stood up immediately with a grin on his face and surrounded Hyde in a warm but not-too-tight embrace. Hyde hugged him back, no problem. If anyone was family, it was Chet, and it had been a long time since Hyde had seen him—even before September 8th, 1979 kept repeating itself.

"Hey, kid," Chet said and held Hyde out at arm's length. Then he looked Hyde over. "Guess I can't call you that anymore, huh? Except..." he was peering down at Hyde's feet, "aren't those the boots I left you?"

Hyde smiled. "Yup."

"How the hell do they still fit ya?"

"They were big in the first place, man."

"Oh, yeah. How old were you when I gave you those?"

Hyde scratched the back of his neck and glanced sideways at Donna. What Chet actually meant was, __How old were you when I got busted?__ "Uh... fifteen."

"Man, that would make you..." Chet counted on his fingers, "nineteen! Huh. You've really grown into a man, haven't ya?" A smirk formed on his lips, and he clasped Hyde's shoulder. "Glad you made it... wasn't so sure you would."

Hyde nodded; he knew exactly what Chet was getting at.

"Hey," Chet was pointing to Hyde's right hand, "you lost the ring? Or did the cops confiscate it?"

"Nope. My chick's got it," Hyde said, and Chet's eyes flicked to Donna.

She raised her hands, wiggled her ringless fingers. Then she reached out to shake Chet's hand. "I'm Donna—not his 'chick'. More like a sister."

"Ah." Chet said. He sat down at the table, and Hyde and Donna both sat, too.

The conversations all around them between the other inmates and their loved ones blended into a single thrum. As great as seeing uncle Chet was, Hyde had come here with a purpose. He didn't want to waste any time, so he came right out with it: "I gotta find Bud, man."

Chet let out an incredulous laugh. "He owe you money?"

"Nope. You know of any places he liked to skulk around? 'Cause I have no damn idea where to look for him."

"Well, he was fond of the bars and nudie joints in Muskego, Appleton, Stetonville—hell, anywhere within in sober driving-distance. Oh, and there was a lady he was particularly fond of in Watertown." Chet drummed his fingers on the table and angled his head toward the ceiling as if trying to remember something. "Didn't he live with you a few years back?"

"Uh... sorta. I lived with him."

"Were you paying the rent or was he?"

"I took care of two-thirds of it," Hyde said.

Chet slapped the table with the flat of his hand. "Then the sonuvabitch was living with you."

Hyde smiled inwardly. Red had told him the same exact thing in private once.

"Y'know..." Chet's expression grew dark, "it's too bad Bud turned out to be almost as much of a dick as your grandpa... 'Course he let that mom of yours pick up the slack, so it evened out. But you were better off not growin' up with him." His eyes shut, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "If I'd had my own shit together—if I could've fuckin' stayed put somewhere—I would've taken you in myself."

Hyde's face grew hot. This wasn't what he'd expected to hear today. "I know, man. I always knew you gave a crap. You were pretty much the only one." He tried focus on his goal, to ask another question about Bud, but the heat from his face spread into his throat and dried up his words.

"Chet, how do you know Hyde was—Bud was living with Hyde?" Donna said. She must have picked up on the trouble Hyde was having at the moment—and he was grateful.

"The bastard visited me about a year ago, trying to hit me up for money. Can ya believe that?"

"Yes," Hyde and Donna said together.

"Bud said he and his old lady—your ma, Hyde—had gotten back together. And he needed some cash to get them situated somewhere." Chet looked down at himself and chuckled. "If I'd had that kind of dough, I wouldn't be in this tan uniform."

"You would've hired a better lawyer?" Donna said.

"No, doll." Chet's soft chuckles grew into full-blown laughter. "I never would've knocked off that liquor store! All I had was an empty gun, too."

Hyde's curiosity was kindled. Edna had only told him what Chet was busted for and how long his sentence was. If she'd known any other details, she'd never filled him in. But Chet being put away seemed to have delighted her to no end, and she'd always used it to dig at Hyde's defenses.

"Why?" Hyde said. His face and throat had cooled enough to let him speak. "Why'd you need the cash so bad?"

"Man..." Chet leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. "It's the same story as most of the guys in here: I was desperate. Saw no way out of the hole I'd buried myself in. Wasn't much better than your dad, y'know, at least where women were concerned. Kept going from chick-to-chick, sponging off them. I never had the temperament to work a regular job. But I got tired of bein' a nomad—and a shit.

"The odd jobs had dried up in Jasper County—that's in Illinois. My car was busted, and I just wanted enough cash to fix her up and get out. Like a few hundred bucks. So that's when I took my gun, no bullets, and tried to hit up that liquor store."

Hyde shook his head. "That's lame as hell, man."

"Yeah, I know. You come from a lame family, kid. You deserved better."

"Actually," Donna said, "he got bett—"

Hyde tapped her arm to make her shut up. He didn't want Chet knowing about W.B., not today. "Did Bud say where he was living with Edna?"

"Uh... somewhere in Oconto County—Wisconsin." Chet sat forward, resting his arms on the table. "But that was over a year ago. He's probably long gone. No way he stuck around more than a few months."

Hyde memorized the place. Seemed like a useful piece of information, but he needed more and finally asked Chet his small list of questions, including Bud's age and birthday. He memorized those answers, too.

"Okay, I've got a question," Chet said once Hyde was finished. "Why _do_ you want to find your dad? He's done nothing but give you misery—unless you want to give some of it back?"

"Kinda."

"Good. The bastard has it coming. Just don't do anything that'll land you in here, all right? You've had enough time in prison, if you get my meaning."

Hyde found himself smiling. "Yeah, man. I think I do."

Suddenly, a warden shouted an announcement: "Two more minutes, folks! Two minutes until your visiting hour is up, so say your good-byes!"

They all stood from the table, and Donna shook Chet's hand again. "Nice meeting you," she said.

"Likewise," he said and held out his hand for Hyde to shake. But Hyde grabbed it and pulled him into another hug. He should've come here sooner. "Thanks for visiting," Chet said. "I've missed ya."

"Me, too," Hyde said softly. "Next time I'm here, it'll be just for you."

They separated, and Chet patted Hyde's cheek. "You're a good kid, always have been. Don't know how the hell you stayed that way."

Heat shot back into Hyde's face, and he shrugged. "Thanks," he said, but the word was a mumble. He felt damn uncomfortable, but he also felt less empty than he had in—well, a long time.

* * *

Donna grabbed Hyde by the sleeve once they made it to the visitor parking lot. A huge grin was plastered on her face."You're so much like him," she said.

"Guess so."

She was laughing now and rubbing his sideburns. "You started growing these in the eighth grade because of him, didn't you?"

He jerked his head away. The heat that had just left his face returned for a third time. "Whatever," he said and walked briskly toward the Camino's parking spot. But she got in front of him.

She started poking at his arms and chest, spoke in a syrupy tone. "Aww, Hyde's uncle Chet got him his ring and his boots, and Hyde keeps them—"

"Get bent!"

"—because he loves his uncle Chet!"

He flipped her off and scowled.

4:13 P.M.

They drove back to Point Place after a decent lunch. Donna had quit pestering him about Chet, and now they were entering Forman's basement. Hyde figured he'd spend the rest of the day with Jackie, have a two-person circle, and try to give her whatever he had left today. But only Fez was inside, sitting on the couch and watching TV.

"Where's Jackie?" Hyde said. He was still standing by the basement door, and Fez's gaze shot to him, eyes widening like he'd just seen a candy-eating tiger.

"She's not with Kelso," Fez said quickly.

"Crap." Hyde strode to the couch and stood directly in front of Fez. "Where are they?"

Fez covered his shoulders protectively. "I don't know. Jackie met me and Kelso in the driveway this morning and yanked Kelso down the street. I haven't seen them since."

Hyde's blood froze. He had an idea where they went.

"Oh, God," Donna said beside him. "Hyde, I'm so sorry."

"Ai... I am so scared," Fez whispered.

Hyde glared at him. "Calm down, _Chrissy._ " Then he looked at Donna. "You, too, Janet."

Fez's frightened face broke into a grin. "Ooh, I'm the one with the boobs."

"Kelso's just bein' Jackie's chauffeur," Hyde said. "I'll see ya 'tomorrow'."

He headed for the basement door, but Donna called after him, "Where are you going?"

"To keep a promise."

11:52 P.M.

It took Hyde over seven hours to drive to Rochester Hills. Unlike Jackie, he didn't know how to get to there by memory and had to rely on his road maps. He got a little lost in Indiana but found his way eventually thanks to a barefoot gas station attendant. Driving all the way to Michigan was a gamble, and going directly to the Titan Motel where he'd taken Jackie yesterday was a guess. But his hunch was all he had.

The Titan's lobby was tacky as hell. A mural of Mt. Olympus and Zeus was painted on the wall, and on the floor was a papier-mâché statue of Atlas, holding the Earth on his shoulders. He'd seen a lot of crappy motels in the last four years, and this wasn't the worst. But it wouldn't win any beauty contests.

He walked past the statue to the concierge desk, and Randy—the Andy Gibb look-a-like who'd checked him in last night—was standing there, listening to the radio. "Hey," Hyde said, and Randy turned the radio down, "Jackie Burkhart's in room 3-F, right?"

Randy pulled out the motel's guest ledger and checked it. "Sorry. We have no guest here with that name."

"How 'bout Michael Kelso?" Hyde said, and Randy shook his head. But Hyde wasn't gonna give up that easily, so he thought a moment, tried to remember what Kelso had named his various body parts. "Pink Floyd?"

Randy's face brightened. "Ah, the tall dude with his weepy girlfriend. Sure."

"Yeah, that's __my__ weepy girlfriend. They in building B, room 3-F?"

"Sorry, I can't share that. But I can call them up for you if you'd—"

Hyde took out his wallet and dropped a few hundred bucks on the desk.

"Building B, room 3-F," Randy said, scooping up the cash. He plucked a key from a wooden board behind him. Then he took a card from the desk that would allow Hyde past the motel's privacy gate. "Please, __please__ don't kill him. A murder'll be bad for business."

Hyde pocketed the key and the card. "No one's dying tonight, man."

* * *

Hyde was standing just outside room 3-F with the key in his hand. He'd driven to building B and spotted Kelso's red sports car in the parking area, destroying any doubts that Kelso, at least, would be inside that room. But Hyde was hesitating. This moment felt too familiar.

He stuffed the key into his pocket and turned away from the door. Maybe if he'd never gone after Jackie in Chicago, he wouldn't have gotten trapped. Maybe if he actually let her go this time, both of them would get their freedom back...

_Yeah, right._ Hyde pulled out the key again. He was just bein' a pussy. Whatever was behind the door, he'd handle it.

The lock was in the doorknob itself, and he slid the key into it, opened the door slowly... and tried to prepare himself for hell. The room was quiet, but the lights were on. He stepped inside, hooked his shades onto his shirt collar. Ten feet away from him on the bed, Jackie was curled up against Kelso's naked chest. She was fully clothed, but anger flashed white-hot at the center of Hyde's stomach.

He slammed the door behind him, and Kelso sprang from the bed.

"Holy shit—Hyde!" Kelso said and fled to the bathroom. He closed himself inside.

Hyde strolled to the bed in a forced-calm. He sat in the spot Kelso had just vacated and watched as Jackie stirred from sleep. She must have been deep in it 'cause her eyes were half-closed and her movements were sluggish. It could have been from nailing Kelso, but Kelso's pants had still been on—and she was wearing Hyde's eyeball ring on her thumb.

His anger burned out, leaving only concern. Whatever had happened, some things just needed to be forgiven.

"Hey," he said softy.

"Steven? How... how did you find me?"

He brushed her hair from her face. "You okay?"

"What?" Her eyes seemed lost, and her breathing sped up to the point she couldn't control it anymore. She was hyperventilating.

_Crap._ She was scared out of her fuckin' mind. Hyde helped her to sit up and began to rub her back.

"Steven, what are you doing?" she said between gasped breaths. "What are you doing _here?_ Oh, God... am I even awake? I feel so foggy. My dad... Steven, he has a whole other family..." Her hands slid up her face, "Am I dreaming?" then dropped back down. _"What are you doing here?_ "

"Jackie, you gotta calm down, doll. You're gonna pass out." He lay back on the pillows and guided her to lie on top of him. He continued to rub her back underneath her shirt, and after a while, her breathing calmed down enough to let her cry.

"Steven, you're really here?" Her voice was a whisper against his neck, but he heard it.

"Yeah... Fez followed you and Kelso to Sandhill Road, overheard where you were going. I looked up motels in the phone book... This was the second one I checked out." They were all lies, but Jackie was almost completely untethered. He couldn't risk making it worse. Clearly, she'd decided to confront her dad again, only this time with Kelso.

"I didn't sleep with Michael," she said. "I just needed... someone."

Hyde kissed the top of her head. "It should've been me."

"You're not mad? After last night?"

"You've forgiven me for a lot worse. Even if you had done something with Kelso—"

Her hands grasped his shirt, and she looked up at him. "I didn't, Steven. I swear. I would've cried into Eric's bony arms had he been here."

"Jackie, nothing's gonna make me sto—" He shut his eyes and sighed. "I'm gonna fuckin' love you forever, okay? So you got nothing to worry about."

Fresh and louder sobs burst from Jackie's body, and she hugged herself to his chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around her back. This pain, man, she didn't deserve it, but he didn't know how to keep it from her.

A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened a crack. Kelso's brown eye peered out. Then the door closed again. Hyde would have to take care of him later.

Jackie's crying finally quieted down, and she sat up on the bed. Hyde sat up, too. He grabbed some tissues from the nightstand and handed them to her.

"Thank you, baby," she said. After she'd cleaned herself up, she patted Hyde's knee. "When you said you were visiting your uncle in prison, it made me think of my dad, y'know? He's been out of jail for almost nine months, and he kept writing me, asking me to visit. I knew he was staying at 'Aunt' Elizabeth's—who isn't even my aunt. She's his... his..."

"Other chick?" he said.

"Yes! And my cousins are my half-brothers! How could he do this, Steven?"

"People make shitty choices, man. A lot of times there isn't a do-over."

"My dad said he wouldn't change what he did because I wouldn't have been born..." Jackie's hands were in her lap, and she gazed at them sadly. "Why did he have those other kids? Wasn't I enough for him? I should have been enough for him..."

"His loss," Hyde said and sat closer to her.

She leaned into his side, rested her head on his shoulder. "Michael was so stupid! He just kept staring at the picture of my 'aunt' and 'cousins'. Then he pointed to Elizabeth in the picture and said to my dad, 'How could you cheat on Pam with _that?_ '"

"I was not stupid!" Kelso shouted from the bathroom. The door was open wide enough to see his face. "Have you seen your mom? She's freakin' hot! Come on, Hyde. Back me up!"

Hyde leapt off the bed and charged the bathroom, but the door slammed shut. "Get the hell out here!"he said and banged on the door.

"No way!" Kelso's muffled voice said. "You're gonna pound me!"

"No, I'm getting you your own room."

Kelso reopened the door. "Really?"

Hyde's hand shot out and grabbed Kelso behind the neck. He yanked Kelso into the room, tossed him on the floor—and before Kelso could make even the slightest move to get up, Hyde straddled his waist and pressed down on his chest.

"I thought you were getting me a room!" Kelso said.

"Oh, I am. But first I'm gonna pound you," Hyde said and pulled back his fist.

"Steven, don't!" Jackie ran to him and held onto his arm. "He's an idiot, but he was still—he didn't try anything this time. He just stayed with me."

Hyde let his muscles relax, "Fine," and stood up. Then he helped Kelso to his feet, slapped a twenty into his palm. "Get yourself a room."

"Can I have another ten? I'm kinda hungr—"

Hyde frogged Kelso in the shoulder and shoved him out of the room.

"What about my shirt?" Kelso said.

Hyde shut the door in his face. One way or the other, Kelso would have the shirt back tomorrow. _  
_  
"Thank you, Puddin'," Jackie said and slid her arms around him.

He hugged her back. "What do you need?"

"To forget this awful day ever happened."

"Since that won't happen till 'tomorrow,'" he said. "what can I do now?"

She withdrew from him a little. "What?"

"Just, uh.. things usually look better when you wake up... right?"

"Oh. Right," she said. She lay her head against his chest and knotted her hands above his tailbone. "Do you know what it's like to feel completely unloved? It makes you feel so small, like you're nothing..." Her arms tightened around his hips, squeezed. "He only had me for his career, Steven! I was a _thing_ to him, like anything else he could buy. Just a fancy suit-and-tie to impress voters. And, beyond that, my existence didn't matter to him. He bought me all those presents just to keep me from bugging him."

Hyde pressed his cheek into the top of her head. He knew that stuff about her dad wasn't completely true, but today wasn't the day to point it out. "His selfishness was my gain, Grasshopper."

"How?"

"It led to you bein' born... and gave you to me."

"Oh... God." Her voice collapsed back into sobs, and her legs followed suit. But he scooped her up before she could fall into a heap on the floor. He brought her to the bed where she huddled up against him in a ball.

He surrounded her with his body as much as he could—and with his voice, saying things to her he never could have gotten out four years ago. It seemed to work 'cause she eventually calmed down again and let him bring them both under the sheets.

It was 1:22 A.M.

"Shit." Hyde sat up and grabbed the phone off the nightstand. Then he dialed the Elkhart, Illinois Police Department, told the cops about the rapist in the Village Parking parking lot. He hoped it wasn't too late, but obsessing over it wouldn't change anything. So he settled back onto the pillows, slipped his arm around Jackie again.

"This day keeps getting stranger," she murmured. "Have you made that call before?"

He hesitated. "Not today."

"Must have been a déjà vu..." She cuddled into his side, closed her eyes. Her breaths soon grew heavy, and her body went limp.

She'd fallen asleep.

Hyde nuzzled his face into her hair. "You were right, Jackie," he whispered. "These days are different."


	22. You're Always Saying Farewell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. "Wishing Well" (C) Free; 2002 A &M Records.

CHAPTER 22  
 **YOU'RE ALWAYS SAYING FAREWELL**

_Day 1354._

_8:23 A.M._

_The Shooting Star Motel._  
...

Hyde was sitting on the edge of his motel bed, clutching the phone. W.B.'s voice came through the receiver: "Okay, Steven, I'll see what Patrick comes up with. He'll probably get back to me in the evening."

Hyde nodded, though W.B. couldn't see him. "Long as it's before eight o'clock-'tomorrow' morning, it's cool."

"Should I call you at the Formans'?"

"How 'bout if I swing by your place with Jackie tonight," Hyde said, "and maybe some of the others?"

W.B. hesitated before speaking. "Angie's going to be introducing her new boyfriend to me at dinner, so... what the hell? Bring whoever you like."

Hyde laughed. "Russ is a good guy, man. Nothin' to be nervous about."

"You've met him before?"

"Yeah, but he doesn't remember."

"Oh. Well, I'll tell Ilsa to expect six more," W.B. said.

"Five. Forman's on his way to Africa."

"Right!" W.B. chuckled. "Think he'll last more than a week?"

"Actually, I think he will," Hyde said. "It's his way out."

W.B. hesitated again. "I can understand that. That boy's made almost more mistakes than me."

Hyde's muscles stiffened. The word "mistake"rang in his mind like a fire alarm: _Mistake mistake mistake mistake mistake_ _—_

"Steven, you still there?" W.B. said.

"Yeah... sorry. What'd you say?"

"Just that I'll see you tonight... Are you okay, son?"

"Super," Hyde said. "Later, man—and thanks."

He hung up the phone. He'd given W.B. all the info he had about Bud, everything Uncle Chet had told him yesterday—but if it wasn't enough to find the guy...

He shook the thought away. _Whatever._ He'd find the sonuvabitch himself he had to.

8:46 A.M.

Hyde was on Pine Avenue, watching the ambulance speed toward Green Bay Road. He'd forgotten to call the damn hospital again when he woke up, had to knock Chad unconscious like usual.

He was too anxious about finding Bud and so accustomed to his morning routine that he couldn't freakin' keep Jackie's idea at the front of his mind. Being able to write himself a note he could actually read the next morning would've been nice.

9:08 A.M.

The Camino was parked on Sandhill Road in Point Place, a tree-lined street that ran along a bunch of houses. Hyde was leaning against the driver-side door, legs crossed and hands clutching his belt buckle. The sun was bright in the blue sky—as it had been every morning the last four years—but he'd left his shades in the glove compartment.

Kelso pulled up with Jackie two minutes later in his red sports car. The top was down.

"Steven?" Jackie said.

"Hey," he said.

Kelso's fingers gripped the steering wheel, and his eyes were frozen marbles. "H-hi, Hyde..."

Jackie opened the car door and stepped onto the curb. "How did you know we'd—?

"Felt like doin' something different today," Hyde said. He gestured for her to come closer.

"Don't do it!" Kelso shouted. "It's a trap."

But she did. He grabbed her hips and drew her flush against him. "I should've stuck around last night," he said, "instead of chasing that moron around." He nodded at Kelso.

"Wh-what?" Her arms were hanging stiffly at her sides. Her breathing had grown shallow.

"You needed me, and I wasn't there," his hands slid around her back, "and I'm sorry." He brought his face toward her and kissed her gently.

Life shot into her arms at the contact, propelling her palms past his shoulder blades. Her fingers glided up his neck and buried themselves in his hair, and she pulled him deep into her mouth. Waves of pleasure pushed through his body at the subtle movement of her hips, threatened to turn into mountainous swells as her sweet, moist tongue swept over his.

_Fuck,_ he wanted her... every fuckin' inch of her. Too damn much.

His hands grasped her shoulders, and he forced himself to break the connection.

"Huh?" She was staring at his mouth. But her gaze soon lifted into his uncovered eyes, and she relaxed into a smile. "I thought I lost you, Steven."

"I'm doing my best to get back to you," he said in French. "Not there yet."

She nodded, as if him speaking another language was the most natural thing in the world. "I understand," she said back in French and cradled his cheek.

He leaned into her hand, enjoyed the feel of her thumb as it stroked his ear. He didn't know how she understood or in what context—whether it was only about today or the last thirteen hundred days—but he'd take it.

"Hey, _le Hyde,_ " Kelso said. He jumped out of his car and joined them on the sidewalk. "Are we _le cool?_ 'Cause it's pretty clear you're cool with _le Jack—_ "

Hyde slammed his fist into Kelso's shoulder. "Yeah, we're fine, man."

"Ow!" Kelso rubbed his arm. "Too _le hard."_

9:26 A.M.

Hyde drove Jackie in the Camino—with Kelso on the flatbed—to the Formans' driveway. They entered the basement together, and Donna sprang off the couch at the sight of them.

"Oh, my God! You're all here!" She went up to Hyde first and gave him a hug. "I'm so glad you're home."

"Yup."

She let go of him and stood back. "Are you and Jackie and, uh... _Kelso_ okay?" she said.

Hyde smirked. "We're starting a threesome," he said, and Jackie swatted his chest.

"Oh, no," Kelso put up his hands, "there is no way I'm doing _that_ kind of threesome. Uh-uh."

"Steven's forgiven me, Donna..." Jackie slid her fingers between Hyde's and grasped his palm, "I hope."

"Not even a question, doll," he said.

"He's _le forgiven_ me, too," Kelso said. "And he's learned French."

Donna laughed incredulously. "What did he have to forgive you for? Driving Jackie to Chicago? Wait..." She blinked and shook her head. "French?"

"Nothing." Hyde flopped onto the couch and pulled Jackie into his lap. "You guys wanna go to Milwaukee with me tonight and eat a rich man's grub?"

Kelso scratched the back of his head. "'Grub' means 'food,' right?"

"Yeah."

"Then I am so in!" Kelso leapt onto the couch and sat on the top edge of it. "Can Fez go, too?"

"Yup. Been a while since I've seen W.B., so I invited us over there. Just gotta figure out what to do with the rest of the day."

Donna shut off the TV and stood in front of it. "Oh, we should totally go bowling or something. You know, like, in celebration of your threesome."

"We are _not_ having a threesome, Donna!" Kelso said and screwed up his face. "Unless it's you, me, and Ja—" Hyde scowled at him, "another chick."

"Bowling sounds fun," Jackie said, but her attention was definitely elsewhere. She was rocking subtly in Hyde's lap. Her movement was intended to make him hard, and it was working.

He tried to ignore it, focused on Donna. "Man, you really like bowling, huh?"

"It's grown on me over the years," she said with a shrug. "So you wanna go?"

"Well, I don't hate it, so... sure," he said. "Fez'll be here in about a half-hour."

Donna flinched. "How do you know that?"

Kelso whipped out his arm and pointed at him. "You're psychic! That's how you knew where I was gonna park. Ooh..." his fingers were wiggling by his temples, "tell me what I'm gonna say next."

"'Ow,'" Hyde said. He elbowed him off the couch, and Kelso fell to the floor with a thud.

"OW! Hey... you _are_ psychic! All right!"

Jackie lay her head back on Hyde's shoulder. She'd succeeded in giving him a raging hard-on, and her grin told him she knew it. "Steven, you're so different," she said in French.

"Not much different than yesterday," he said back in French.

She giggled. "I can't believe we're speaking in French, but it feels so normal. Why does it feel normal?"

"Who cares? Frenching feels normal, too." Hyde leaned over Jackie's face and showed her what he meant. She moaned a little as he built the intensity of the kiss. The sound of her voice—and the way she was clutching his thigh for stability—sent his need for her coursing painfully through his system. He wasn't able to break himself free of it, and he deepened the movements of his mouth.

Kelso's head popped up from behind the couch. "Excuse me!" he said in English. "Why is there so much _le French_ going on this morning?"

Jackie separated herself from Hyde's kiss, and he was thankful for the easy-out. For three years he'd starved himself of her touch. He didn't know how much longer he was gonna last.

"Yeah, Hyde," Donna said, "since when do you speak French?"

"Since I taught him, _Donna._ " Jackie stood up and tried to pull him with her. "I want you so badly," she said in French. "It feels like we haven't made love in years."

Kelso tossed one of the couch's pillows at her. "Enough with the _le le le,_ already!"

Jackie tugged on Hyde's hand, but he winced and doubled over. "Montezuma's revenge," he groaned. Then he shuffled past Jackie and Donna to the basement's bathroom.

Once the door was locked, he leaned his back against it. Pushed his jeans and boxers to his ankles. Jackie had covered for him about the French, probably too horny to care about how he could speak it. Yeah... he knew the feeling.

His need for her had settled deep into his groin, and he began to stroke his erection. Having to keep himself from her like this—day after day—flooded him with guilt. But had she remembered all the chicks he'd nailed, _who_ he'd nailed... she'd never want to touch him again.

"Steven?" Jackie's muffled voice joined her knock at the door. "Are you okay, baby?"

He swallowed down the groan rising in his throat. This was taking too long. He stroked himself harder... "Bad food, man," he said back, "bad shit!"

She banged on the door three minutes later. "Quit playing with yourself and let me in!" she shouted in French.

His skull thudded back against the door. _How the hell did she know?_

"Ja—" _Damn it._ His voice was no longer capable of coherent speech. A few more rough strokes caused his muscles to clench. He finally exploded into his hand, but he found no release in it.

He cleaned himself up, cursing inwardly the entire time. The shame of fucking Jackie's mother, of causing Jackie to kill herself—he deserved no acquittal or parole from it.

When he got back to the basement, Jackie was alone. She was sitting on the couch, staring morosely at the spool table. He sat beside her, angled so he was facing her. "Jackie—"

Her gaze shot up, and she turned toward him. "Steven, do I sicken you?"

"No, I sicken me."

"Why?"

His arm was draped over the back of the couch, and his fingers scratched at its worn upholstery. "When we were broken up, I was with a lot of..." He shut his eyes. His throat was tightening, but he had to tell her, man. "I was with a lot of chicks, Jackie."

"Broken up when?" she said.

"The last time," he said, knowing she'd think he meant Christmas '78. "Some of the girls, they were 'cause I was pissed at you. Some were to get over you, and the rest were 'cause I enjoyed it. But I quit enjoying it..." He lowered his head, felt as if someone had scooped out his insides and carted them away.

Jackie placed her finger beneath his chin and raised it so he was looking at her. "Steven, if a genie offered you a wish," she said, "that you could sleep with any girl you wanted—even the ones in those disgusting magazines—but it meant never having sex with me again, would you make that wish?"

"No."

"Okay, if the same genie offered you another wish, one where you could make love to me for the rest of your life—but no one else—would you make _that_ wish?"

"Pretty much wish that every morning I wake up," he said. "Wasn't freakin' worth it, touching those other chicks. I feel more in a damn breath from you than any of the kinky shit some of tho—"

She cupped the side of his face and interrupted him with a soft kiss. "I forgive you."

"Jackie," he stood from the couch, unable to tolerate her touch—the love in it, "you don't know what I did to you, man. You have no idea. You've gotten so much crap your whole damn life, and I just added more onto the fucking pile."

She glanced up at him. "Did you get any of those women pregnant?"

"No way."

"Then you're not adding any more pain, not to me," she said.

Hyde wanted to argue, but he couldn't scrape together any words. All he could do was look at her helplessly.

"Steven," she rose from the couch and held both his hands, "anything you've done, even the things I don't know about—and probably don't _want_ to know about—it's over, baby, okay? Because if you keep dwelling on them, I'll never get you back." Her eyes had grown wet, and she blinked away the forming tears. "And that would be the _worst_ thing you could do to me."

"You'd be better off—"

"No!" She squeezed his hands tightly. "Whoever you were when you did those things, that's _not_ who you are now."

"How do you know?" he said quietly.

She tapped her heart. "I. Just. Know."

"You've only been with me a few minutes today."

"It feels like a lot longer."

He sighed heavily and stared at his boots. The sunless core of him cast a shadow over his heart. "Jackie, you shouldn't love me like this."

"Puddin'... you can be so stupid." She was laughing—which brought his gaze back to her—but her eyes were filled with nothing but mercy. "You're the one who has no idea. You really don't know who you are, do you?"

She was caressing his cheek now, and he brought her hand to his lips. The light in her eyes had pierced the darkness inside his chest. "I know something," he said and smiled into her palm. "I know I'm in love with you."

* * *

10:18 A.M. Hyde and Jackie went to the Formans' kitchen, and he cooked them a quick brunch of eggs and sausage.

10:41 A.M. He joined Donna, Fez, and Kelso in the driveway for a game of two-on-two basketball while Jackie watched.

1:39 P.M.

Hyde took a fast shower. Then he drove everyone to the bowling alley in the Vista Cruiser. He was bowling decently—a good portion of strikes and spares—maybe 'cause he allowed himself to make out with Jackie in between their turns.

He was in the midst of laying thick kisses along her neck, when she whispered in French, "Steven, let's go to the women's restroom."

He moved his kiss to her lips, didn't let her speak again for a good thirty seconds.

"I'm serious, baby," she said quietly by his ear. "I want you... Even if it's just a few minutes."

"When's it ever been 'just a few minutes' with us?" he said in French. "We'd be in there at least a half-hour."

She frowned. "You're not gonna, are you?"

"You deserve better than a quick and dirty screw," he said, but her deepening frown made him sigh. "Look, if I don't get over this crap soon, I'll do it with you anyway, okay?" He stroked the back of her hair and smirked. " _Long_ and dirty—just how you like it."

"No..." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I want all of you, Steven, and I'm willing to wait until you can give it to me." Her voice fell silent; then she burst into a fit of giggles. "It's so weird that the girl has to wait for the guy to be ready."

He grinned at her. "It's almost the '80s, baby. The times, they are a-changin'."

2:46 P.M.

After a lunch of pizza at the bowling alley's restaurant, Hyde drove everyone back to Forman's basement. They were in the middle of a circle. He hadn't had one in a really, _really_ long time, but his body responded as if he'd been having them regularly. It was nice. He missed it.

But smoking and drinking himself out of his life wasn't something he wanted or needed to do anymore. He'd tried it; it didn't work. In the end, he was still just as stuck.

Fifteen minutes later, when their second joint was nothing more than a roach, Hyde took Jackie's hand and bid Donna, Fez, and Kelso _adieu._ Told them to meet him in the driveway at 5:30 P.M. for their trip to W.B.'s.

Fez rubbed his stomach. "Ooh, I cannot wait to eat a rich man food."

3:05 P.M.

Hyde and Jackie were lying on his cot, boots and shoes off their feet. He was flush against her back, and she was hugging his arm to to her chest. "You really want to take a nap?" she said.

"Yeah..." He snuggled into her back. The circle—and their conversation this morning—had exhausted him. He'd need his strength to drive later. "If you wanna hang out with Donna or something—"

"No, I like cuddling with you," she said. Then she kissed his fingers. "But why cuddle when we can do it?"

He chuckled into the nape of her neck, but his fingers were tingling where her lips had touched them. "'Cause I'm freakin' nuts," he said.

"I'm only teasing you, Steven... mostly." She sighed, brushed her cheek against his arm. "I love you enough to control my dirty urges."

His hand closed around hers and pressed both into her heart. Jackie wasn't known for her patience— _at all,_ man—but here she was, being patient with him. If four years of repeated days could do that to her, maybe it had done something to him, too.

6:12 P.M.

Everyone had met in the Formans' driveway at 5:30 P.M. and piled into the Vista Cruiser. Hyde drove them to Milwaukee, and now he was leading them into W.B.'s mansion.

W.B., Angie, and her boyfriend, Russel, were sitting on the long leather couch. Hyde's focus immediately shifted to the tapestry of a baobab tree on the wall. His eyes followed the tree's thick trunk up to its widespread branches. But his pulse had sped into overdrive, and he couldn't calm it down.

He wanted

to ask W.B. if he'd heard anything about Bud, but his friends were all there inside the living room. This had to be kept private.

"Hey, Angie!" Kelso said. "Remember when we used to do it?"

Angie lowered her head. "Oh, God..."

W.B. walked over to Hyde and clasped his shoulder. "Good to see you, son." Then he shook his head slightly. "Nothing yet."

Hyde nodded.

Angie stood up from the couch with Russel. "Hello, everyone. This is my boyfriend, Russel. He's an Engineering major, and his father's a professor of Architecture at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee."

As usual, Russel seemed put-off by her extensive introduction. He looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

"Babe," Angie stroked Russel's 'fro then smoothed down his polo shirt, "this is my brother, Steven, and his, um... _them._ "

"Nice to met you, Steven," Russel said and held out his hand.

Hyde shook it and gestured to Jackie. "This is Jac—" he began to say, but she seized Russel's hand from him.

"I'm Jackie Burkhart, the love of Steven's life," she said. "And future Communications major... somewhere."

Hyde froze. Something had changed.

"Yeah," she continued, touching her fingers to her collarbone, "I'm gonna have my own network someda—"

Donna elbowed Jackie out of the way. "Hi, Russel. I'm Donna. You might know me fr—"

"Hey!" Russel's face lit up as he took her hand. "You're 'Hot Donna,' right?"

She chuckled demurely. "That's me."

"Man, I listen to your show all the time," he said. "You play great shi—stuff."

"Thank you." She was beaming, and Hyde was glad to see it. Whatever freakin' joy she could squeeze outta the day, she deserved. "Angie," she said, "I love your new boyfriend."

"Hey!" Kelso pushed in front of Donna, knocking into a bookcase on his way. "Michael Kelso," he said. "Angie's ex. Yeah, she and I used to bump pretties all the time."

Donna rolled her eyes. "Isn't the term 'bumping uglies'?"

"Not when I do it," Kelso said.

Hyde stood back with Jackie, watching curiously as the scene before him unfolded. It felt almost normal, like today was just a regular Saturday instead of one in a string of endless Saturdays. He wanted nothing more than to relax into it, to relax into the soft fingers laced over his arm, but Jackie— _this_ Jackie—would be wiped out same as the rest of them, same as this day.

Russel tilted his head and pointed at Kelso. "You're the 'good-looking but vapid' guy Angie was with before me."

"Yup. You got a lot to live up to," Kelso said and thumped Russel lightly on the arm. "Sorry about that, buddy."

Russel smiled at him. "Right..."

"And I am Fez." Fez shook Russel's hands between both of his. "I have seen your girlfriend do it."

"Michael!" Angie frogged Kelso's shoulder lamely.

"Yeah..." Hyde said and walked over to Kelso, "lemme take care of that for ya, sis." He rammed his fist into Kelso's arm.

"Ow!" Kelso clutched his arm and fled to the other side of the couch. "It's my policy, gets to watch me do it once in a while. _Damn!_ "

"'Sis'?" Donna mouthed to Jackie, and Jackie shrugged.

W.B. cleared his throat. "Why don't we go into the dining room for a drink?"

6:47 P.M.

Everyone was sitting at W.B.'s glossy mahogany dining table. W.B., Angie, and Jackie each had a glass of white wine in their hands. The rest had beer, but Hyde wasn't drinking anything but pop. If Patrick called with info about Bud, he wanted a clear head.

"A Coke?" Donna laughed. She was sitting across from him. "You are so weird today, Hyde."

"He's psychic," Kelso said.

Jackie touched Hyde's knee beneath the table, which prompted him to whisper, "What's this about college, man?"

"Oh..." She ran a finger along the rim of her wine glass. "I think I'm gonna quit the job in Chicago."

"But that's your dream job," Donna said.

Jackie peered up at her. "Dreams change, Donna. It isn't right for me."

"You haven't even had your first day—"

"Look," Jackie sighed and addressed the whole table, "I applied to college, okay? But I don't have the money to go where I really want to go, and taking a loan always felt..." Her voice grew hard. "Jackie Burkhart doesn't take loans. I'll just have to go to Community or something and reapply for scholarships."

Donna's mouth dropped open slightly. "Wow. I didn't know."

An uneasy silence fell over the table. Russel and Kelso were both looking anywhere but Jackie. Fez started to hum... Hyde wasn't sure what to say. Any sympathy he could give would probably mistaken for pity. So he cupped Jackie's knee beneath the table, just as she'd done his.

"So, Michael," Angie's voice chirped, "how's Betsy?"

"Still the cutest kid in the sandbox—when I'm not in there with her. Just saw her yesterday." Kelso glanced at the ceiling and scratched his chin, the way he did when he attempted to form a thought. "Feels like I haven't seen her in years, though..."

8:03 P.M.

Dessert was on the table. Ilsa had made, as always, a peach cobbler. This time, though she'd made a pecan pie to go with it. Hyde took a slice of the pie—'cause it was different—and Jackie took a slice of the cobbler. She had a huge buzz going from the wine she'd downed with dinner. She'd probably drunk more 'cause of all the college-talk, and her hand kept drifting higher up Hyde's thigh until it settled on his crotch. He was about to move her off when the phone rang.

"Excuse me," W.B. said. He rose from the table, and Hyde got up with him.

"Steven?" Jackie said.

"I'll be back," he said and followed W.B. into the living room.

W.B. picked up the phone from the coffee table. "Hello? Patrick? I can barely hear you... Oh."

Hyde began to pace the room.

W.B.'s voice increased in volume, as if that would make Patrick louder through the phone. "Really? Not that far, huh? Hold on. Let me get a pen." He gestured to Hyde then pointed to the roll top desk against the wall. "Middle left drawer," W.B. said.

Hyde opened the drawer, grabbed a blue pen and a pad of paper. His heart ticked relentlessly in his ears as W.B. wrote down the information Patrick was giving him.

"Okay," W.B. said. "Thank you very much, Pat. See you on the golf course." He chuckled. "Yeah, I do... All right. Bye-bye." He hung up the phone and turned to Hyde, who was standing with his arms crossed. "Patrick found your stepfather. He's in—"

Hyde snatched the pad of paper from W.B.'s hand. "Brake Bleeder Saloon. Gillet, Oconto County." The exact address for the bar—and the directions to it—were written underneath the word "bartender". Hyde glanced up at W.B. "Hasn't changed, huh?"

"I couldn't say, son. I never knew him."

"Makes two of us." Hyde tore the top sheet off the pad, folded it. "Guess I got a trip to make."

"Tonight?"

"Yup." He pulled the Vista Cruiser's keys from his jeans pocket, but his insides felt squashed by a sudden awkwardness. "Could I borrow one of your cars? I can't leave my friends stranded here."

"It sounds like a rough place," W.B. said. "Steven, if you've got to do this... let me go with you."

Hyde patted W.B.'s back. "Thanks, man, but I can handle myself. Been in plenty of rough bars before." He smirked. He'd gotten himself killed in about a third of 'em—but whatever.

"I wanna do this," W.B. said. His voice and face reflected sincerity. "I've got a few things to say to Bud myself."

Hyde hesitated. But before he could answer, Jackie charged into the living room with everyone else behind her.

"What's going on?" she said

"Me and W.B. are goin' on a road trip," he said with a small smile.

She glanced at him sideways. "Now?"

"Where?" Donna said.

He stiffened. He didn't want them to know, especially Jackie.

"Steven..." Jackie hugged him around the waist, and her cheek pressed into his chest, "please tell me?"

"To see Bud," he said. _Damn it._ He couldn't keep shit from her today.

She grasped two handfuls of his shirt. "What?"

"No, Jackie," Fez said, "the better question is: _Why?_ Hyde, you hate your fathe—stepfath—whatever he is."

Donna opened her mouth, got out a syllable, but Hyde said, "Not answering questions tonight, so don't bother asking." He gave the 'Cruiser's keys to Donna and kissed Jackie briefly. Anything more than a peck, and he wouldn't be able to go. "I'll see you 'tomorrow,'" he said.

He stepped away from them, but he could feel Jackie's stare at his back. He turned around to find he was right: She was staring at him glumly.

Hyde tugged his ring off his pinky. Then he returned to her, closed her fingers around the ring. "I promise, Grasshopper," he whispered. "I'll see you 'tomorrow', okay?" Jackie nodded silently.

W.B. joined him by the front door, pulled his gray coat and hat from the coat rack, and Angie said, "Daddy?"

"We probably won't be back until three-in-the-morning," W.B. said. "Don't wait up, okay?"

"Dad—" She walked toward him.

"Don't worry yourself, baby." W.B. met her halfway and took both her hands. "We'll be fine."

"At least tell us _where_ this guy is," she said.

"Oconto County," W.B. said, and Angie flinched with disgust.

Hyde didn't look to see what Jackie's expression was. He couldn't afford to.

8:58 P.M.

Hyde was driving W.B.'s Cadillac Eldorado on the highway, and for the last forty minutes, he and W.B had been relatively silent. But W.B. finally piped up and said, "Why _do_ you want to see Bud?"

"Just something I gotta do."

W.B. grew silent again—until a chuckle left his throat. "Jackie is something else."

Hyde kept his focus on the road. "Sure is."

"Do you think she's... What are your plans with her, son?"

"What do you mean?"

"Have you thought about a future with her?"

"All the time, man."

"Well?" W.B. said, and Hyde shrugged.

"I don't have a future without her."

W.B. nodded once. "Then I'll pay for her college."

Something bright sparked in the middle of Hyde's chest, same as when he'd moved in with the Formans. "Thanks," he said and spared a glance at W.B. "Really, thank you." Then he laughed. "It's gonna take me a freakin' lifetime to pay you back, considering where she wants to go."

"It's not a loan," W.B. said. "It's an early wedding gift."

The spark in Hyde's chest caught fire, forcing heat into his cheeks. "Huh."

"I see it in your eyes, son. You have the same look for Jackie I did for Eunice."

Hyde nodded. The mention of Eunice, W.B.'s wife, surprised him. W.B. had never really spoken about her before. All Hyde knew was she'd died shortly after Angie was born.

"I only had a few years with her," W.B. said, "but they were some of the best."

"How did you keep going, man, without her?"

"Oh, I had Angie. She was the cutest little girl, has her mother's smile..." W.B.'s voice grew softer. "But I went a little crazy after Eunice passed away... left Angie with Neecy's parents, and I stayed with my dad for a while. He was a real risk-taker for his time, the first black man to choreograph an integrated water show, both black and white women. I'm still surprised the Wisconsin Dells hired him, talented or not."

Hyde didn't move his gaze from the highway. "The Tommy Bartlett Water Show?"

"No... The Tommy _Barnett_ Water Show," W.B. said, and Hyde's body began to shake. He pulled the car over and parked on the shoulder. "Steven," W.B. was frowning, "what's wrong?"

"My mom—Edna never shut up about that damn show, how I ruined her her 'fabulous water skiing career'. But she always called it 'The Tommy _Bartlett_ Water Show,' not 'Barnett'... _fuck."_ He lowered his forehead to the steering wheel. "Her drunk ass must have gotten the name screwed up... Fuck!"

W.B. rested his hand on Hyde's back. "Steven—"

Hyde shot up and glared at him. "You're Tommy Barnett's son. Why the hell didn't you tell me that before?"

"I would have, but whenever I mentioned your mother or tried to tell you how we met, you closed yourself off. So I dropped it."

"Tell me now."

"She really was good on those skis," W.B. said. "Top girl on the pyramid, which is why when my dad introduced us after one of the shows—"

"You knocked her up."

W.B. chuckled. "Yeah, though that wasn't my goal. I was really messed up over Eunice, and I threw caution to the wind and..."

"Me," Hyde said.

W.B. nodded. "You."

A mixture of pain and anger kept Hyde shaking and stung at his eyes, but he called on all his Zen and willpower—and forced his body to absorb what it really wanted to let out. He blinked his eyes to clear them. Then he took the car out of neutral and drove back onto the highway.

W.B. sighed. "Neecy's death nearly destroyed me. She was a kind woman, full of love and incredible understanding—and she could cook a mean omelet. Not a day goes by that I don't miss her." W.B. paused, and Hyde spotted his sad smile in the rearview mirror. "But something unimaginably good came out of her loss, Steven—something as irreplaceable as her."

"What?" Hyde said, voice as flat as the highway.

"You."

Hyde's grip t _ightened on the steering wheel. He_ felt like he'd been drop-kicked into a brick wall. W.B.'s words weren't bad—they were fuckin' unexpected, and the feelings they injected into his system were like a disease. His body didn't know how to handle it, was pushing back against his Zen and willpower. The only escape route for the disease seemed to be his eyes, but he'd dammed them up with years of practiced disconnection.

Driving in this state was too dangerous, though, so he pulled over again. He let W.B. take the wheel for a while and concentrated on the road ahead.

11:16 P.M.

The parking lot of the Brake Bleeder Saloon was filled with motorcycles of all types—Hondas and Harleys and Maicos, single cylinder to four cylinder, from 50cc up to 750cc. Hyde had parked the Cadillac between two of the smaller bikes and was walking with W.B. toward the bar.

The squat building was covered in gray siding. Neon signs glowed in its darkened windows, advertising different brands of beer. Shrubs with yellow flowers served as topiaries in front of the door.

"You know there's a fifty-fifty chance the Caddilac's windows are gonna get busted, right?" Hyde said. He adjusted his shades. They hadn't left his face since he and W.B. left Milwaukee. "Should've let me park a few blocks away."

W.B. glanced back at the car. "I don't give a shit as long as it can still drive us out of here."

They were in front of the Brake Bleeder Saloon now. Hyde pushed open the door, and the bar's innards assaulted his senses: The sound of Lynyrd Skynyrd, over-loud talking, and billiard balls being knocked around. The sight of bikers crowding the tables. The reek of sweat and old beer. Real classy.

The bikers all stared as he and W.B. walked deeper inside, but Hyde spotted Bud immediately. He was working behind the bar with a haggard-looking chick. He was fatter than Hyde remembered, and he was stooped over like a wilting tulip—as if his neck couldn't handle the weight of his head.

"Is that him?" W.B. whispered.

Hyde nodded. "Uh-huh."

They went up to the bar and stood next to a rail-thin biker, who seemed mesmerized by the chick-bartender. Her low-cut shirt barely covered her giant rack, and a smile surfaced often on her bony face. She was busy serving drinks while Bud picked up dirty glasses.

"Bud," Hyde said when Bud passed by.

"Get you one in a sec," he said.

"'Dad'."

Bud peered up at him. "Steven? How did you—how—how are you?"

"Swell."

"Hold the fort, Theresa," Bud said.

He put down a gray dishtowel and came out from behind the bar. Hyde followed him to relatively isolated spot by the restrooms.

Bud's brow furrowed as W.B. joined them. "Can I help you?" Bud said.

"Steven," W.B. said, "would you like to do the introductions?"

Hyde curled his fingers into fists then relaxed them. "Sure. W.B, this is the guy who got drunk every day when I was a kid and ditched me when I was nine. He's also the guy who hit me up for money eight years later and ditched me again."

"That's—" Bud chuckled uneasily, "that's not exactly how it went."

"Bud," Hyde looked straight into his murky blue eyes, "this is William Barnett. My father."

"Your fa—uh... Barnett?"

Hyde kept his voice level. "Yeah, turns out you're only a deadbeat _step_ dad."

Bud nodded. "Well, that would definitely explain some things."

"Did you know?" Hyde said.

"What?"

"Did you know I wasn't yours?"

"That's a complicated question, Steven."

Hyde's hands curled back into fists. " _Did you know?_ "

"Your mother never told me anything," Bud said and scratched the back of his neck—a sign of discomfort. It was a gesture Hyde had picked up himself as a kid.

Bud continued. "But I suspected, and I never really felt like a father, so... I kind of knew in that sense." He grasped Hyde's shoulder. "Look, I wish 'sorry' were enough, but—"

Hyde hit Bud's hand off him. "You're an asshole."

"You're right." Bud started laughing, as if it were a damn joke. "I am an asshole. Always have be—."

"Don't pull that crap again." Hyde's voice was raising, and his stomach had clenched. "What're you gonna do, offer me a bourbon this time? Get me a hooker?" He turned to W.B. "That's what he did the last time I found him, you know that? Fucking numbed me out so I wouldn't be pissed."

"Hey!" Bud had raised his voice, too. "You wanted those things, if I recall. And I don't recall much, so it must've happened."

"No, I wanted a damn father," Hyde said. "Not someone who'd hit me up for rent money."

Bud put up his hands."Now, wait. I never asked. You offered."

"You asked without asking, man!" Hyde's anger had broken through his Zen. Only willpower kept it from detonating like a grenade. "I paid most of it for months, and then you run off with fucking Edna?"

A grin snaked across Bud's face, and his laughter returned. "What can I say? She's good in the sack..." he looked at W.B., "am I right?"

"I am _this_ close to knocking your damn head off," W.B. said. "The worst mistake I ever made was not checking up on Edna after we were together. If I had known..." He shook his head angrily. "You had a child under your care, man! Even if you weren't sure he was yours, it was still your responsibility to..." His eyes shut, and he inhaled deeply. "Steven has grown up to be a fine young man, no thanks to either of us. God only knows how that happened, but his heart's as big as it gets. I'm just sorry I had nothing to do with it."

Hyde's gaze had sunk to the sticky floor. A strange feeling was blazing at the center of him. Having his dad—his real dad—speak up for him like this, it was something he never thought he'd hear. Jackie told him a long time ago how she and the Formans had defended him to W.B. the same way...

"So what do you want from me, Steven?" Bud said. "You show up here with your father who's got a fancy shirt and tie to, what? Shove in my face how shitty I am? What do you want?"

Hyde looked up at him with blurry eyes. Tears had risen in them for the first time since he was nine. "I want my life back."

"I can't give that to you." Bud's grin had grown deeper. "Hell, I didn't give it to you in the first pla—"

Hyde's fist slammed Bud in the jaw, and Bud flew back against the outer wall of the men's room. He slid to the floor, nose and lip bloody. The force of over nineteen years had been in that punch.

"Get up," Hyde said. When Bud didn't move, he picked the bastard up himself, shoved him against the wall. Bud gaped at him, a crumpled and empty man. "Huh," Hyde said and fought to control his breathing. "You were right..." His fingers loosened their grip. "You don't have shit."

W.B. clasped Hyde's shoulder, but Hyde had one more thing to say.

"Where's Edna?"

Bud flinched. "What?"

"Edna!"

"Oh... uh... at her sister's the last time I—"

A woman's scream cut through the bar. Hyde let Bud go and jerked around. Terrified eyes were peeking over the thick, tattooed bicep of a biker. Small hands clawed at the biker's arm, and a plastic blue iris stared out from the left thumb.

"Holy sh—Jackie?" Hyde shouted as fresh adrenaline coursed into his system. She must have taken the 'Cruiser and followed him here. "Jackie!" he shouted again, but the biker's wide back shrank toward the door.

Hyde maneuvered around the tables and propelled himself through the door. The biker was lumbering slowly across the parking lot, easy for Hyde to close the distance. He charged at him and threw his fist into the biker's fat neck.

The biker turned around. He was taller than Hyde by half-a-foot and three-times as wide. Jackie was pinned against his fat body, trapped in his arms. Her fingers were pinching at him ineffectively, and her legs couldn't connect with anything useful.

Hyde began to speak, but the biker cut him off with a low-spoken threat: "You walk away, you live."

Jackie's muffled voice was screaming. Hyde took one stride closer, "You take her, I'm dead," and smashed his forehead into the biker's nose.

"Fuck!" the biker growled. His arms sprang open, and his hands clutched his bleeding nose.

Jackie ran free and tried to wrap herself around Hyde's waist, but he yanked her behind him. "Get to W.B.!" he shouted and rammed his foot into the biker's stones... what he thought were his stones. He'd missed by inches, and his boot sunk into—then bounced out of—the biker's fat stomach.

"You just made your last mistake," the biker said. He pulled a set of brass knuckles from his worn leather jacket. Hyde recognized some of the nastier tattoos on the guy's arms. He was the kind of a biker Uncle Chet always warned Hyde to steer clear of.

Hyde spared a glance behind him at Jackie—both she and W.B. were safe by the Brake Bleeder's door—but that glance was his real last mistake. His senses exploded with pain as his skull collapsed against the biker's brass-covered fist. A kaleidoscope of stars burst behind his eyes, static clogged his ears. Then all was silent and dark... and without feeling.


	23. Another Day Might Be Too Long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do” (C) ABBA; 1993 Polydor / Umgd. "Comin' Home" (C) Lynyrd Skynyrd; 2000 MCA Records Inc.

CHAPTER 23  
 **ANOTHER DAY MIGHT BE TOO LONG**

" _I do, I do, I do, I do, I do."_

Relief spilled into Hyde's body as ABBA's song about love played for the 1355th morning in a row. Whatever had happened at the bar last night after his "death," Jackie and W.B. were all right.

The bed felt hard beneath his stomach, but he remained there until long after the song finished. Too much had happened yesterday, and he'd had no chance to process it. His body was shaking with it all. His eyes tried to release it, and his voice remained quiet... but years of locked-up emotion couldn't be paroled in silence.

He grasped the comforter and pressed his face into the pillow. The sounds leaving him were loud and wordless—and without any attached thoughts. They came from his sunless core, that seething vulnerability he'd spent most of his life shielding himself from. But his lungs drove his voice out in powerful blasts, and with each thunderous exhale he felt lighter.

And then, without any fanfare, it was over.

Just... over.

His body relaxed, and a tranquil smile surfaced. No matter what happened after today, no matter how much dark shit was left inside him, he would always know Bud's weakness wasn't his.

He angled his head toward the clock radio. 8:52 A.M.— _fuck._ It was too late to help the Hobarts.

Hyde sat up, grabbed the phone from the nightstand and dialed the Formans'. After two rings, Red picked up: "Hello?"

"Hey, it's Hyde. Could ya put Donna on? She's in the basement."

"How the hell do you know that?" Red said.

"Where else would she be with Forman gone?"

A minute later, Donna's voice came through the receiver. She sounded more cheerful than usual, but that was probably due to the lateness of his call. Their conversation went as it normally did. He gave her the hypothetical choices about Forman, told her to avoid the Le Motel, asked her to relay his message to Jackie:

"I love her, and she's got nothin' to be forgiven for... Tell her to wait for me in the basement 'cause I'll be there in a few. And tell her, 'Shine, Grasshopper, shine.'"

"Um... sure," Donna said.

"Thanks. See ya in about a half-hour."

"Oh, wait!" Donna shouted through the receiver. Hyde had almost hung up on her.

"Yeah?"

"I had the strangest dream last night. You were speaking French!"

His eyes widened. Something had changed.

"Uh... weird dream," he said. "I took Spanish."

"I know!" She was laughing. "But your accent... it was, like, perfect."

He smiled. His accent had been the hardest thing to master. But he'd have to make sure not to speak any French today. Didn't wanna freak her out.

She told him a little more about the dream, how the French had __le annoyed__ Kelso. And after another good-bye, they finally hung up.

9:32 A.M.

Hyde was on the stone staircase outside the Formans' house when Jackie's sobbing reached him. "Shit."He charged down the rest of the stairs and threw open the basement door. "Jackie?"

"Steven!" Jackie sprang up from the couch and thrust herself into his arms. She was crying uncontrollably.

This was new...

Donna was sitting on the couch, and he looked to her for help. "What happened?" he said.

"She had a nightmare," Donna said.

Jackie was shaking and clinging to his body, but she let him scoop her up and bring her to the couch. He sat her down in his lap. "Talk to me, doll," he said. She didn't loosen her vice grip around his shoulders, and her face remained buried in his neck, but she began to speak.

"You—you went with your dad to find Bud in this horrible biker bar," she said, "and I drove after you in the Vista Cruiser. I made—made it to the bar, but this huge tattooed guy cornered me. He kept saying these disgusting things to try to pick me up, and—and I turned him down. I pointed to you, told him my boyfriend was right there. That's when he grabbed me."

Hyde's pulse was racing, and it pumped harder with each word Jackie spoke. She was describing exactly what had happened last night.

"And-and he beat your brains in, Steven! Your face just—oh, God. It was... I thought my heart had broken in Chicago, but no. It broke in that dream. You were lying on the pavement. The back of your skull was all dented and bloody. And the tattooed guy drove off on his motorcycle. I went to your body... I couldn't stop screaming, Steven. I kept screaming."

She was shaking even worse, like a damned earthquake, and he held her tightly as he could without crushing the life from her.

"An ambulance came," she said, "and I ended up in the hospital. They drugged me up because I was still screaming, and—and I couldn't let go of your body. I couldn't!" She broke down into whispered sobs. "I can't believe you're not dead, baby. You were dead... I woke up this morning, and I thought you were gone. I kept shouting, 'Steven's dead! Steven's dead!' I freaked Michael out, but he calmed me down enough to get me back here."

"I'm sorry," Hyde said, and that was all he could say: "I'm really sorry."

Donna rubbed his shoulder. "It was just a dream, Hyde. You didn't make her have it."

"Yeah, I did. If I hadn't left her last night, none of this shit would've happened."

He lay a kiss on the top of Jackie's head and continued to apologize while she cried. Something had definitely changed. Both she and Donna remembered what had happened yesterday, even though as a dream. It meant he'd have to be more careful about what he did.

Jackie withdrew enough from his arms to look at him. Her eyes were wet and raw. "I can't do this, Steven."

"Do what?"

"Live without you. I can't."

He smiled at her gently. "Can't live without you either, so it works out."

"What?" She shook her head. "You forgive me for last night?"

He sighed. Donna probably hadn't had a chance to relay most of his message. "Yeah, you don't have to be forgiven. Why can't you freakin' remember _that?"_ He couldn't keep the frustration from his voice, and both Jackie and Donna looked at him quizzically. "Jackie..." he sighed again, "what do you need from me today, Grasshopper?"

"I need you to stay with me, okay? Just stay with me."

"Okay."

* * *

Jackie clung to Hyde throughout the day. She had to have some part of her in contact with him at all times, even when he went to take a leak. He tried to distract her with a round of chess, but her head wasn't in the game. She just started to cry, and he had to hold her for the next forty-five minutes.

2:16 P.M.

Donna, Kelso, and Fez had returned to the basement from the bowling alley. They immediately took their positions around the spool table, expecting Hyde to facilitate a circle. But he had other plans.

"I've got something I gotta share first before I break out the 'film,'" he said.

Jackie was sitting in his lap on the couch, and the ratty green blanket was wrapped around both of them. His "death" had traumatized her, just like Donna's had on day 278, but he didn't have any of Angie's Valium to give her this time. He needed to go drastic to break Jackie from her fear.

"Is it candy?" Fez said.

"No..." Hyde cleared his throat and started to sing in his thin voice: "Oh, I've been dreaming through my lonely past. Now I just made it. I found you at la—"

"Oh, my God," Donna said, "is that ABBA? Hyde, are you singing ABBA?"

He answered by continuing the song, practically singing it into Jackie's cheek. "So come on. Now let's try it. I love you, can't deny it 'cause it's true. I do, I do, I do, I do, I do."

Donna, Kelso, and Fez were staring at him, mouths agape. But Donna managed to spit out, "Are you baked already?"

"Shut up, Donna!" Jackie said. "It's... Steven, are you asking me to marry you?"

"Am I..." Hyde burst into laughter. Hell, he fuckin' lost it. No matter how traumatized she was, marriage was where her mind went by default.

"I'd take that as a 'no,'" Fez said.

Hyde was laughing so hard it hurt his stomach, and he had to rest his forehead on Jackie's shoulder. "It's not a 'no,' man. It's..."

"It's a yes?" Jackie patted the back of his head. "Is it?"

He straightened up. His eyes were tearing from laughter. "Yeah, why not?"

"Steven, if you're screwing with me..." Her face was dead serious, and it knocked all the laughter from him.

"I wanna have a future with you, Jackie," he said. "That's all I fucking want."

"He __is__ high," Kelso said.

Jackie was finally smiling, "Oh, my God," and she kissed Hyde for the first time that day. Just a brief peck, but it was good enough. "Where's my ring?" she said.

He gave her his eyeball ring yet again. "For today," he said. "Tomorrow I'll get you something better."

"Nothing's better than this," she said, glancing at the ring on her thumb. She was crying again, but thankfully not from fear anymore. "Except maybe if the iris were made from sapphires... and the white of the eye were diamonds." She gasped. "Oh, and the pupil could be a black opal! Steven, do you think you could get that made?"

Hyde chuckled. That was his girl.

6:45 P.M.

For the first time in four years of repeated days, everyone was seated in the Formans' dining room. Hyde was sitting next to Jackie, who'd finally seemed to relax about his "death". She kept calling him her fiancé, as in, "Could someone pass my fiancé the salt so he can pass it to his fiancée?" She was annoying the hell out of their friends—and Red—but Mrs. Forman seemed to like it...

And so did Hyde. It was the first time he and Jackie had really been engaged on this day. It felt nice.

But the joy Mrs. Forman might have felt at their engagement wasn't reflected in her appetite. She mostly twirled the spaghetti on her fork then let it drop back to the plate. In all the September 8th dinners Hyde had eaten here, Mrs. Forman always yelled at Red about Forman being in Africa. This time, though, she was being quiet.

Hyde wasn't the only one who'd noticed. "Mrs. Forman," Donna said, "what's wrong?"

"Oh, it's just..." Mrs. Forman shook her head sadly. "This poor man at the hospital. His wife passed away today. They'd gotten into a car accident on the highway, and no one stopped to help. I just—" Her fork clanked to her plate. "I just can't believe I live in a world where everyone's so busy they can't help an injured woman!"

She began to cry, and Red got up from his seat and rubbed her back. "The world is full of selfish bastards, Kitty. If I had a foot for each one of their asses, I'd be the world's longest a millipede."

"But what if that had been Eric? Oh, God! What if my baby gets caught in a stampede of elephants and no one's there to pull him to safety?"

"Oh, that won't happen," Red said. "Eric's small, like a mouse. The elephants'll be too scared to step on him."

Mrs. Forman sniffled. "That's true. He's got those dainty wrists..."

Hyde was pushing a meatball around with his fork. His appetite had considerably shrunk. As glad as he was finally to be engaged to Jackie—as badly as he wanted out of September 8th—he didn't want this day to take. The Hobarts deserved to be helped, man, and Hyde was the only one who seemed willing to do it.

9:03 P.M.

After dinner, everyone had gone back to the basement for a game of Monopoly. Jackie must have recovered even more from her "nightmare" because she'd tricked Kelso and Fez into giving her complete control over the board's east side—and bilked Donna out of her railroads. Her devious nature was in full-force, and Hyde was pleased to see it.

But it was also his turn. His pewter cowboy-and-horse sat on the Water Works space, putting him directly in the path of Jackie's monopolies. He shook the dice and rolled a 7.

"Damn it!" he said to the laughter of Kelso and Fez. He moved his game piece to Pennsylvania Avenue, where Jackie had a hotel.

Kelso smirked. "You're gonna go bankrupt!"

"Yes!" Fez said. "And I will buy his mortgaged properties. Finally, I can have the Water Works..." he stared at Kelso, Donna, and Jackie in turn, "and shut off all the water to your houses!"

"The game doesn't work that way, Fez," Donna said.

"Oh, it'll work that way once I have the Water Works. See if you can charge me rent then, you sons-of-bitches!"

Donna merely rolled her eyes, and Hyde sighed. "What's the damage, doll?"

"1,400 dollars," Jackie said. They were sitting on the couch together, and she leaned in to give him a kiss. "But you can pay me another way."

"I've always liked this game." Hyde moved his lips over hers, cradled the back of her head, and gave her a $1,400 kiss.

"No fair!" Kelso shouted.

"Why can't __I__ pay that way?" Fez said.

Jackie pulled away from Hyde's kiss. "Because you're not my fiancé." Then she continued to collect her rent. Her tongue dipped into Hyde's mouth, and he smiled into this new kiss as it grew deeper.

"Oh, my God. This so reminds me of my dream last night," Donna said. "You two were kissing just like that. And Kelso said something like, 'Why is there so much __le Frenching__ going on this morning?'"

"You guys wanna hear a __good__ dream?" Kelso said, and Hyde made himself separate from Jackie's lips. He draped his arm around her shoulders, and she cuddled into his side. "Yeah, so I was at Hyde's dad's house," Kelso went on, "and Angie was there, and I totally did it with her!"

"Crap." Hyde clenched his fists. It could have only been a dream, but knowing Kelso... Hyde stood up, walked past Jackie and Fez on the couch, and frogged Kelso hard.

"Ow!" Kelso rubbed his shoulder. "Damn, Hyde! It was a __dream.__ _"_ Then he laughed to himself. "If only you knew what else I've dreamed of—OW!"

Hyde had frogged him again.

"Ai..." Fez said and covered his shoulders protectively. "I have had so many filthy, happy dreams. Why can't they be real?"

"Because they're only happy for you, man," Hyde said and sat back down next to Jackie. He really hoped Kelso had just been dreaming. "Don't think that 89-year-old grandma who works at the Piggly Wiggly could survive the same pounding your pillow gets."

Fez lowered his head glumly. "Oh, Mrs. Winston, how you tease me with your 'Have a nice day's."

"What about you, Hyde?" Donna said. "What did you dream last night?

"I don't remember my dreams," Hyde said. He picked up the dice and handed them to her. "Your turn."

11:37 P.M.

Jackie was lying on top of Hyde in his cot, head tucked beneath his chin, arms hugging his chest. Her warmth soaked into him easily, and—after last night, man—that was exactly what he needed.

Underneath his knit blanket, his hands were resting on the small of her back. He also had a slight hard-on, but nothing he couldn't ignore. Sleep would come easily to him tonight... which was why he'd set his alarm go to off at 1:12 A.M. Unlike the Hobarts, that woman in Elkhart, Illinois was gonna get some help.

Jackie sighed and shifted her body so it wasn't lying on top of his erection. "All I wanna do is hold you right now, baby..."

"I got no problem with that," he said and kissed the top of her head. "But I'm gonna have to get up around one o'clock to make a phone call."

"Yeah, I know."

He flinched. "What?"

"Don't you always make that call?"

"Yeah, but only 'cause... Yeah." His heart sped up painfully, and it pulsed in his throat. __She remembered.__

**DAY 1356**

Hyde woke up, half expecting Jackie to still be in his arms. But he was in the Shooting Star Motel without her, as always. He had a rough task ahead of him today, so he moved through his morning obligations quickly. Finally made his call to the hospital in Point Place about the Hobarts, called up Donna and the Point Place P.D.

When he drove down Green Bay Road, an ambulance had arrived at the Hobarts' accident. Chad and his S.U.V. were nowhere in sight, and Hyde watched from the Camino as paramedics tended to the unconscious and pregnant Mrs. Hobart. They'd put her on a gurney and were lifting her into the back of the ambulance. Mr. Hobart joined her there, and several minutes passed before the ambulance sped with them back toward Point Place.

8:48 A.M.

Hyde strode into the basement swiftly. "Hyde? Oh, my God, you're here!" Donna said from the couch.

"Yeah, and I gotta make a phone call." He took a pen and the notepad from the shelves. Then he sat next to Donna, who was eying him curiously. He ignored her for now, grabbed the phone from the spool table and dialed the operator.

"I need the number for Phyllis Milner," he said into the receiver. "Grafton, Wisconsin." Then he gave the operator her street address.

A few seconds later, the operator read off a number, which Hyde wrote down. "Would you like to be connected?" she said.

He hesitated. It had been a long-shot gamble that Phyllis still lived in her house. "Sure, why not?"

The phone rang in his ear along with the throb of his heartbeat, once... twice... three times, and then a woman's voice answered: "Hello?"

"Uh..." Hyde's skin prickled up his arms, and he suddenly felt very cold. The voice sounded like... "Edna?"

"No, this is Phyllis. May I ask who's calling?"

__Crap.__ He'd forgotten how similar they sounded. But he didn't remember his aunt ever being that polite. He tightened his grip on the phone. "It's, um... Steven," he said.

"Steven?" She paused. "Oh, God. Steven! How are you?"

Polite __and__ happy to hear from him? Who the hell was this woman? "Fine," he said. "You sound... good."

"I am. I'm very well, thank you."

He bit back a snort. Maybe she'd been replaced by a Pod Person.

"Would you like to speak to your mother?" Phyllis said. "She's just upstairs."

"Actually..." his heart was thundering in his ears like a Bonham drum solo, "could I drop by instead? Rather talk to her in person."

"That would be lovely."

"Cool. I'll see you later."

"Looking forward to it," she said.

He hung up the phone and stood up from the couch. Then he walked to his chair calmly, settled onto it.

Donna was staring at him, but he didn't offer up any explanation. Instead, he propped his feet up on the mushroom ottoman and laced his fingers behind his head.

"What was that all about?" she said, pointing to the phone.

He shrugged. "I'm gonna see Edna."

"What?" Her eyes widened. "How did you find her?"

"You ask a lot of questions, you know that?"

"Come on, Hyde! You're seeing your—I can't believe you're seeing your mom!" She scooted over to the side of the couch closest to him and clutched the armrest. "Oh, my God, Eric's gonna freak when I tell him."

A wave of anger crested at Hyde's skull, the kind he hadn't felt in a long time. But he crossed his arms over his chest and tapped into his Zen. Whatever he was feeling, it belonged to Edna, not Donna.

"Hyde?" she said.

"Got a few things to clear up with her, okay? That's it."

"Are you gonna let her have it for abandoning you?" She was leaning forward on the armrest. "'Cause she really deserves it, you know."

"Kind of."

"Can I come? I've always wanted to kick her ass."

He let out a chuckle, more out of surprise than anything else. Didn't expect Donna to be so pissed on his behalf.

"I remember when we were in Old Maine," she said, "and you'd miss school for a few days then show up with these faded bruises and scabbed up cuts in the weirdest places, like your neck—"

"Donna..." He tried to interrupt her, but she seemed determined to talk about it.

"You never acted like anything was wrong," she said then shook her head. "No, you did. You were, I guess, __you__ _..._ But you never, like, took it out on any of us."

Hyde choked down a sigh. He really didn't want to hear this crap, but she'd clearly held onto it for a long time and needed to unload. He wouldn't stop her.

"If my mom had done that kind of shit to me," she said and clenched her fists, "I would've been beating people up left and right. I'd be so pissed off I wouldn't know where to..." She covered her mouth, as if she'd made a huge discovery. Either that, or...

"You gonna puke?" he said.

She got off the couch silently and sat on his lap. Then she wrapped him a hug.

"Uh, Donna?" He patted her back. Man, was she heavier than Jackie. "What are you doing?"

"She was such a bitch to you," she whispered by his ear, "and you turned out to be so awesome."

"Yeah, thanks. Could you get off?"

Without argument, she quit hugging him and stood up. But her eyes were wet.

"Holy hell, are you gonna cry?" he said. His voice was rougher than he intended, but the sight of her tears shocked him.

"No." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Just... you had every chance to become a total asshole, and you're not. You've always protected the underdog, you know? Like Eric. Like Fez..."

"Hey, Forman paid me, man. I didn't do it to be nice. And Fez could've gotten killed by those dick-jocks." He gestured to the floor. "His blood would've spilled all over the football field, and then one of my freakin' detentions would've been to clean it up—not that I'd actually show up for detention, but..."

Donna was smiling. "If Eric were here, he'd totally be backing me up on this. Just accept it, Hyde: You're a good guy. And I still can't believe you're seeing your mom! You've gotta let me come with y—"

The basement door banged open, and Jackie dashed inside. "Steven, thank God!" She plunked down on his lap and hugged him to her chest. "I thought you'd be here!"

He stiffened. "You did?"

"It just made sense." She cupped his cheeks and looked straight into his shades-covered eyes. "I love you."

Hyde couldn't speak. She hadn't said her usual, __"I am so sorry about what happened in Chicago. I was alone and I thought I lost you."__ What the hell had changed?

"Steven?" Her thumbs were stroking his sideburns, and he continued to stare at her dumbly. "I had this dream last night that you were with me," she said, "just with the whole day. And you were so... perfect, baby. When I woke up this morning, it felt like you'd forgiven me—even though the last time I actually saw you, you were running after Michael... Am I right, Steven? Did you—?"

His throat managed to squeeze out a word: "Yeah."

"Oh, Steven..." She kissed him thoroughly, lips and tongue massaging him back into coherence.

Once she pulled away from his mouth, he said, "What day is it?"

"Saturday."

"September 8th?" he said. _  
_  
She shrugged. "Who pays attention to dates?"

"Yes," Donna said. "It's the eighth."

He'd expected as much—the Point Place P.D. hadn't caught the Waster yet, the Hobarts had been on Green Bay Road—but it was a fair guess, considering that Jackie... "Man, I must be getting closer, though," he said out loud. "Maybe the cosmos is almost done fucking with me. After today, maybe I'll be—it'll be tomorrow."

He started to laugh. His thoughts were leaking out of his mouth, but he was feeling too damn much to keep them inside his head. "That's really fucked up, man. If all the damn cosmos wanted from me was to see them... __fuck!"__

"Hyde," Donna said cautiously, "what did you smoke before you got here?"

"Nothing, man..." His awareness shot back into the basement, and he stopped laughing. "Nothing. Just thinking about a weird dream I had."

"I thought you didn't remember your dreams," she said, and his muscles tensed again. He'd said that to her yesterday—and she remembered it.

"The most screwed-up ones, I do," he said. Then he closed his arms around Jackie's waist and brushed his lips against her ear. "Wanna take a trip with me to Grafton?"

"Not really."

"He's going to see his mom today," Donna said.

Jackie turned around in his arms. "What?"

"Gotta do it. And I gotta leave now." He patted Jackie's butt and guided her to stand up with him. "You don't have to go," he said, "but I figured I'd ask."

"Oh, I'm going. I just don't know why you are."

She grasped his hand as he led her toward the basement door. He was unsure about keeping this particular promise to her—exposing her to Edna. It probably wasn't gonna be pleasant, but it would only be a moment in time, passing through. Chicago had stood between him and Jackie for four years, and it finally seemed to be over. With any luck, he'd wake up tomorrow with Jackie in his arms.

10:38 AM.

Hyde's aunt Phyllis lived on West Beech Street, in a decent neighborhood where kids rode bicycles and flew kites. That she still had her house was weird to him. He thought she'd sold it years ago to fuel her habit.

The house was small as far as two-story houses went. The sun was shining brightly against its white siding, and as he and Jackie walked to the front porch, he handed her his shades.  
 _  
_"Thanks, Puddin'." She put them on and giggled. "Do I look like you?"

"Spitting image," he said. "Just need to 'fro-out your hair." He began to tease a few strands, and she slapped his hand away.

"You're gonna give me knots," she said, but then she took his hand gently and kissed the back of it. "Sorry for hitting you."

"Sorry for trying to perm you."

He climbed onto the porch with her, stepped in front of the door but didn't face it. He was facing Jackie instead. On the drive to Grafton, he'd warned her to wach her feet inside the house—in case Phyllis had left any needles lying around. His aunt sounded clean on the phone, but maybe she'd just been high out of her mind.

"It doesn't look like a drug den," Jackie said.

"Listen..." he handed her the keys to the Camino, "if I tell you to get outta here, do it. No arguments, got it? Just drive home."

She nodded.

He turned around and rang the doorbell. Rang it again about thirty seconds later. He stood there for a minute with Jackie, and she said, "Maybe they left?"

"Maybe..." He knocked on the door this time, and it opened. He pulled Jackie behind him in reflex. His body was already preparing itself for a fight, pumping adrenaline into his bloodstream. He wanted to scoop Jackie up and bolt, but she was holding his hand and pushing him forward.

They walked together into the house. The living room was dimly lit but looked a lot cleaner than he remembered. No piles of newspapers and clothes. No choking stench of smoke or mold. The furniture was new, too. No stuffing sticking out. But his muscles tightened at the sight in the center of the room—

Edna was sitting hunched over on the couch. In her hands dangled a bottle of 80-proof Smirnoff vodka.

Hyde turned back to Jackie. "Go home."

"But Stev—"

"Go."

Her hand tightened on his arm. "How will you get—"

"Jackie, __please,__ _"_ he whispered, and she finally relented. She kissed his lips softly as a good-bye—but he held her for a moment. "I love you..." he said. "Haven't told you that today."

She said nothing but slid his shades back over his face. Then she grasped his wrist and drew a smiley face onto his palm. Tears were in her eyes. She clearly didn't want to leave him, but she headed for the front door without looking back.

Hyde's skin tingled where she'd touched him. His instincts told him to follow her, but he stepped in front of Edna instead. Her head was drooped over her chest, and her face was hidden by her auburn hair. She was wearing a pea-green trench coat with all but the last two buttons unclasped, as if she couldn't have been bothered to finish the job.

"Ma?" he said, and Edna's head perked up.

"Hello, Steven..." Her eyes were glazed over, just as he remembered them. "I've been waiting for you," she said and drank from her almost-empty bottle of vodka.

"Where's Phyllis?"

"Told her to go. This is private." She let the bottle slip from her fingers. "You know how long I've been on the wagon, baby?"

"No."

"Thirteen months, nine days," she said. "And then Phyll says you wanted to see me, and now..." She straightened up, and her voice turned into a mournful cry. "Why'd ya have to come back? I thought I was finally rid of you!"

Hyde was standing very still, and his arms hung limply at his sides. His Zen was intact, but he didn't know for how long. "Just wanted to talk."

"What do you have to say to me, huh? You gonna finally apologize?"

"Don't have shit to be sorry for," he said.

She smirked. "Still a selfish fuck, just like your father."

"Which father do you mean, Ma?" He crossed his arms and widened his stance. "The one you married or the one who knocked you up?"

"You—" A ghost of fear passed over her face, something he'd never seen before. "You know?"

"Yeah. Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"It wasn't your business," she said, and anger punched through his Zen like a steel fist. His lungs and throat were preparing to release it, to yell, but he didn't want to give that to her.

"My real father isn't my damn business," he said quietly.

"Your existence interfered with my life enough, Steven. It's interfered with my life enough..." She slipped her hand inside her trench coat, "But you know what?"—and pulled out a .22 pistol.

Hyde backed up from the couch. He'd faced death hundreds of times, and the fear of it had left him. But seeing Edna's gun, the fear rushed back in. Things were changing, man. Jackie and Donna were remembering things from the days before—if Edna shot him, he might not wake up tomorrow.

"My life has been a living hell since I got pregnant with you," she said. Then she opened her arms wide, as if presenting her surroundings. "This wasn't what it was supposed to be. I could've been something instead of..." Her voice faded, and she re-aimed the gun at him. "So I said to myself, 'If Steven ever finds me, I'm gonna kill him.'" Her hand was shaking. "Because you took my life, Steven. You fucking took it!"

"No!" Jackie shouted and pushed in front of Hyde. "Giving birth to Steven was the __best__ thing you ever did!"

Hyde grasped Jackie's arms— _she'd fuckin' sneaked back inside the house—_ and started to pull her behind him _—why the hell didn't she ever listen to him?_ _—_ and Edna's finger closed around the trigger.

The bullet flew from the barrel, and Jackie fell hard against Hyde's chest. He lowered her gently to the carpet though panic was sweeping through him. The bullet was lodged in her torso, just below her breasts... Blood soaked her blouse already.

He pulled off his shirt, balled it up, and pressed it against her wound. "Call a fucking ambulance!" he shouted, but Edna didn't move from the couch. The gun was still pointed at him.

"Stev—Stev—" Jackie was trying to speak, but her voice came out in strained gasps. Her hand twitched toward him, and he grabbed it. His insides felt like they were disintegrating. She'd died before, but he'd never seen it happen.

He kept pressure on the wound and crouched protectively over her body. "You're gonna be fine," he whispered. "You're gonna wake up in Chicago 'tomorrow,' and this'll just be a nightmare, doll. Just a nightmare, okay?" He kissed her favorite spot behind her earlobe, but he was shaking uncontrollably. "I love you. I love you, Jackie. God—fuck! FUCK!" He hugged her dying body... didn't know for how long.

"Things turned out better than I thought."

Edna's voice forced Hyde to sit up. Jackie's eyes were open, glassy and unmoving. He kissed her still-warm lips then turned toward Edna. She still had the gun pointed at him.

He nodded. "Shoot me."

"I don't think so." Edna smirked and lowered the gun. "I'm enjoying the look on your face too much. You love that sweet little bitch, don't ya, Steven?"

He stood up from the floor, from Jackie. Then he grasped Edna's wrist and pulled the gun's muzzle into his chest. "Shoot me, damn it!"

"Oh, no. Now I want you to live a long, __long__ time." She jutted her chin at Jackie. "Without her."

Hyde, though, hooked his thumb over Edna's index finger, over the trigger. "Fuck you," he said—and pushed.


	24. A Dark, Sunless Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER 24  
 **A DARK, SUNLESS PLACE**

Hyde awoke in the Shooting Star Motel, fueled by relief and fury. Jackie threaded into his thoughts, but he had a more pressing need to get out of his system. He ran from his room without making any phone calls or changing from his stunk-up Rolling Stones shirt, barreled downstairs to the lobby. He shoved Phyllis the concierge out of the way and took her .38 special. Then he left the motel in the Camino.

9:21 A.M.

He'd driven to Grafton and was knocking on the door of his aunt Phyllis's house. The door opened less than a minute later, revealing the ugliest woman he'd ever known: Phyllis She was spindly with a thin face that looked like it had been crushed with a c-clamp. Her cheekbones jutted sharply from hollow cheeks, her dark brown hair was now shot through with gray, but her eyes were clear. She had definitely gotten clean.

"Steven?" Phyllis clasped his shoulders. "Oh, my God, look at y—" She froze. Must have noticed the gun in his hand.

"Get out of here, Phyllis," he said and pushed past her into the house.

"What are you doing?" She was following him. "Steven, what are you doing?"

He went straight into the small kitchen. Eggs were cooking on the stove, and Edna was at the Formica counter, spreading jam onto some toast. Her blouse and pants were something Mrs. Forman could have worn.

"Hey, Ma," Hyde said.

Edna looked up at him, and her eyes widened to glassy blue globes. "Ste-Steven?"

He grabbed her by the neck and pushed the gun's muzzle into her forehead. His finger was flush against the trigger, and before he could form a coherent thought, a loud __blam!__ cleaved the air.

A vacuum of sound followed as blood sprayed onto the kitchen counter, over the toast.

He stared down at Edna's face. It had no life in it, but her body was shaking in his arms from the impact of the bullet. "That was for Jackie," he said and let her drop to the floor. She lay there twitching. Shooting her was something he'd imagined doing hundreds of times...

It wasn't enough.

He stuck the .38's barrel his mouth. If Phyllis was still standing at the doorway, he didn't know or care. He just hoped Jackie would forgive him for the promise he was about to break.

He tightened his finger over the trigger, and the X she'd traced over his heart five days ago blazed brightly in his memory.

_Sorry, Ja—_

**DAY 1358**

Phyllis opened the door to her house at 9:26 A.M., and this time Hyde yanked her outside. Today he had the .38 stashed in his denim jacket.

"What are you doing?" Phyllis said, but he slammed the door behind him and locked her out.

He entered the kitchen and leaned casually against the yellow wall. Edna was sitting at the two-person breakfast table with her eggs and toast. But none of the pain he was used to seeing in her face seemed to be there.

"Ma," he said.

She glanced up with the same wide, alarmed eyes as yesterday. "Ste-Steven?"

"Yeah."

"How are you?" she said. Her expression relaxed, and she ate a bite of her eggs.

"Since when do you give a crap?"

"I don't." She turned on the chair so she faced him, laced her hands over her crossed knees "That's just what people say when they haven't seen someone for a while."

Hyde was scowling. His body felt taut, like a rope twisted into warped coil. "Right."

"If you're here for money, you can forget it," she said. "I don't have any. I've just started working ag—"

"Just got a few questions. Then you'll never see my damn face again."

She adjusted her blouse as if she were uncomfortable in it. Then a sigh lifted out of her. "This is about your father, isn't it?"

"No. William Barnett—I know already."

"Then what, Steven? What the hell do you possibly think I can give you?"

He pushed himself from the wall and took a step toward her. "Why did you leave?"

"Oh." Her lips formed a tiny smile. "To get away from you."

"Too easy," he said. "Let's try a harder one: Why'd you wanna get away from me?"

Edna stood up from the table and crossed her arms. "That's why."

"What?"

"You kept doing—" she raised her crossed arms then let them fall to her chest, " _ _this.__ 'Whatever, Ma.' I could've beaten you within an inch of your life, and you wouldn't have cared. 'Whatever, Ma. Whatever.' Who the hell wants to hear that?"

"You're saying—" a strange chuckle escaped him, "you're saying you left because I didn't care if you—"

"Just the first part, Steven. There's no 'if you'."

Hyde's breath pulled from him thickly, painfully. His body began to shake. The rope was untwisting sharply out of its coil. "You left because you couldn't hurt me anymore."

"I left because it _ _didn't__ _ _matter__ to you if I hurt you. Nothing I did mattered to you."

The rope snapped. His arm shot out, and he grasped her throat. "Does this matter to __you?__ _"_

"Ste—" she choked out, and her face filled with terror. She tried to pry him off, but he kept squeezing.

"Remember the first time you did that?" he said. "I was ten. 'Uncle' Hot Tub Johnny was sleeping in my room. I told you to get him the hell out so I could go to bed. And you grabbed me—" he squeezed her throat harder, "just... like... this."

Edna's eyes drifted shut, and her body went limp. But he held her up with the strength of his arm, dug his fingers deeper into her neck.

"I hate you..." he said, growling low. "I fucking hate you. You tried to kill me, fuckin' tortured me. And now I hate my fucking self." He squeezed her throat one last time then let her drop to the floor in a heap. "But that's what you wanted, right?" he said, staring at her purpled face. "That's exactly what you fucking wanted, for me to be miserable, an eternity of Goddamn misery."

He stepped back and took the .38 Special from his jacket. "Funny thing is, Ma, there are a shitload of people out there who want something else for me. Some- _fucking_ -how, I let 'em in. Somehow I..."

The muzzle of the gun slid up the side of his face. The opening pressed hard and cold against his temple, but the memory of gentle fingertips made him move the gun further up. He pushed the muzzle into his forehead and tightened his grip around the trigger, but the imprint of soft lips loosened it.

Slowly, the gun slipped down his neck and landed at his chest. Warm tears wet his cheeks, fell onto his hand. If they were his, he didn't know. But Mrs. Forman's laughter was in them and Uncle Chet's hair-ruffling, Kelso's slap on the back and Red's strong handshake. He ordered himself to shoot, but more damned tears curtaining his face, dropped onto his thumb. They contained Donna's playful poking and W.B.'s anger on his behalf, Fez's admiration and Angie's affectionate jokes. Leo's clap on his shoulder...

He shoved the muzzle into his throat, just beneath his jaw. Tried to fire, but his pulse grew loud in his ears, the way it used to when he and Forman would wrestle in the basement. Or when Jackie looked at him... spoke to him... kissed him in the exact spot a bullet was threatening to rip open.

A shaky breath left him, and he became painfully aware how fragile his body was—his organs, his heart. From the first time Edna's touch had hurt him, he thought he was expendable...

But now he finally saw himself as something that deserved protection.

Grief coursed through him like blood, and he lowered the gun. Despite the hostile, unwanted life he was born to, somehow he fucking __loved.__

"Even you," he said to Edna's unmoving body. "Even me."

He stepped over her to get to the kitchen door. The rest of the day would be useless. Going to Point Place wasn't an option, but neither was shooting himself. He'd broken that promise to Jackie once already, and he was finished with self-obliteration.

Maybe he'd drive into the country and have a private-circle, take a swim if he could find a decent lake. He tucked the gun back inside his jacket and entered the living room... just as the front door burst open.

Cops swarmed into the house, guns raised. "Police! Get on the ground!"

Hyde did as they said, lay on the floor and clasped his hands behind his head. He knew the drill.

"Do you have any weapons on you?" a hoarse-voiced cop said.

"There's a gun in my jacket," Hyde said.

The cop grabbed his arm roughly and cuffed him. "Got any knives or anything that'll stick me?"

"No."

The cop rolled Hyde onto his back, pulled the .38 from his jacket. Another cop, a skinny guy, opened an evidence bag, and Hoarse-Voice dropped the gun into it. Then he patted Hyde down.

"Where's Edna Hyde?" the skinny cop said.

"Kitchen. I choked her," Hyde said, and paramedics swept past him and rushed into the kitchen.

The cops finally lifted him to his feet. "Did you kill her?" hoarse-voiced cop said.

"I don't know."

"What's your name?" the skinny cop said.

"Steven Hyde."

"Mr. Hyde, you have the right to remain silent," the hoarse-voiced cop said. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..."

Hyde sighed. So much for his plan to wait out the day in relative peace.


	25. Gone So Long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do” (C) ABBA; 1993 Polydor / Umgd. "The Song Remains the Same" and "The Rain Song" copyright 1973 Swan Song Inc.

CHAPTER 25  
 **GONE SO LONG**

Hyde was lying on the hard wooden bench of a holding cell. His shades, belt, and watch had been confiscated, but he knew by now what a whole day felt like. He'd been in the county jail all night.

A couple of other guys, some young, some older, were jammed in the cell with him. A strung-out junkie was crouched in the corner and clutching his knees to his face. A gray-haired grumbler was stretched out on the other bench with his arms crossed. Hyde's own arms were crossed, too. The place was freezing, man. The guards had taken away their blankets some time ago, which meant it was morning.

He was exhausted, but true sleep had been impossible. He thought he'd take a snore and wake up to a fresh September 8th, 1979. But maybe the cosmos was screwing him a final time, by letting him reach fucking tomorrow and having _this_ be the day that took—the day he'd murdered his own mother.

His eyes quit staring at the gray ceiling and closed. The warden had offered him the chance to speak to a lawyer, but he didn't bother. Didn't use the offered phone call either. Calling Jackie—or anyone else who cared about him—was just gonna make things worse. They'd find out what had happened soon enough.

He felt himself drift into a half-sleep, but the cell opened a few minutes later. A couple of guards had brought them breakfast: A pint of milk and an apple.

He wasn't hungry, but he made himself eat... for Jackie.

* * *

"Mr. Hyde, it's time for your arraignment."

Two guards pulled Hyde out of the cell maybe twenty minutes after breakfast. They put him in leg irons and back in handcuffs. Then they walked him down the hall.

* * *

Hyde was sitting in a holding cell at the courthouse with other prisoners. Last time he saw a clock, it read 7:14 A.M. That had given him some hope. But the length of time he'd already spent in this new cell took that hope away. Felt like at least an hour had passed.

Guards opened the cell eventually and ushered all the prisoners into a brightly-lit corridor. They formed a line. Then the guards led them up a staircase. Hyde's feet were anchors submerged in wet cement, growing heavier with each step. After everything he'd been through, he couldn't believe __this__ would be his life.

A thick fog settled over his brain as he entered a courtroom. It made him dizzy, wobbly, but a guard jabbed him in the side and directed him to a row of chairs against the wall. "Sit," the guard whispered, and Hyde sat down between two prisoners, lowered his face to his cuffed hands.

"All rise for the honorable Judge Cosimo," a bailiff announced a moment later.

Hyde stood with the other prisoner. The judge stepped inside the courtroom, and the lights dimmed considerably... then burned out completely. Hyde tried to speak, but he couldn't move his mouth or any other part of him. He tried to think, but all thoughts were gone.

_He_ was gone.

* * *

_"I do, I do, I do, I do, I do."_

Hyde's eyes popped open.

_"Oh, I've been dreaming through my lonely past. Now I just made it. I found you at last."_

The Shooting Star Motel's clock radio read 8:00 A.M.

"Holy shit..." He was lying on his stomach on the motel's sagging bed. But he pushed himself up and jumped on the mattress like a little kid. "Yeah! Hell yeah!" His fist pumped in the air like freakin' Forman, but he'd never been so happy to see the motel's dingy gray walls. "Day-fucking, uh... thirteen-fifty-nine. Holy shit!"

He dropped onto his butt and grabbed the phone.

_"So come on. Now let's try it. I love you, can't deny it 'cause it's true."_

He called up the hospital in Point Place, told them about the Hobarts. Then he dialed the Pinciottis', and Donna picked up.

"Hey," he said. "It's Hyde. How you feelin'?"

"Crappy," she said.

"I'm sure you're pissed like hell at Forman," he said, going into his usual conversation with her about Forman and the Wisconsin Waster.

When the topic switched to Chicago, Donna said, "You sound really happy. Something good must have happened."

He scratched the back of his neck. "I'm not happy, just relieved, man. I had a helluva couple of days. But Jackie and I are cool."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Listen, I wanna hit the road, so I'll talk to you when I get back, okay?"

"Sure," she said. Then, "I'm glad you're coming home, Hyde."

He smiled into the phone. "Me, too."

8:28 A.M.

Hyde was on Green Bay Road, watching from the Camino as paramedics took care of Mrs. Hobart. He doubted those extra minutes would make a difference, but at least he'd given the Hobarts the best chance he could.

8:55 A.M.

Hyde entered the Formans' basement holding four bouquets of flowers in his arms, one of tiger lilies, one of roses, one of tulips, and one of daisies.

"Hyde, oh, my God, you're here!" Donna said from the couch. "And you're holding flowers?"

"Yeah..." He separated the tiger lily bouquet from the rest and handed it to her.

"Tiger lilies." She glanced up at him. "These are my favorite."

"They're from Forman," he said quickly. "Told me to get them for ya 'cause he didn't have time yesterday." He turned away from her—before she could spot anything in his unshaded eyes—and headed for the stairs. "I'll be back in a sec."

"Me, too," she said. "I'm gonna go home and put these in something."

8:57 A.M.

Upstairs in the kitchen, Red was reading the September 8th _Milwaukee Sentinel._ But Hyde was watching him from the staircase 'cause the possibility of going all "Forman" on him today was high. Red was the second man he'd actually aspired to be like, the second guy who'd given a shit whether he lived or died—and, maybe more importantly, cared _how_ he lived. The gratitude Hyde felt, it was overwhelming him.

"Hey, Red," he said when he finally stepped inside the kitchen. He dropped the bouquets of flowers on the counter.

"Crap." Red put down the paper. "Is it some kind of anniversary today or something? Damn it, Kitty's going to kill me."

"No, man. Just got Mrs. Forman some 'thank-you' flowers.'" Hyde opened one of the cabinets above the counter and pulled out two glass vases.

"What for?"

He turned on the sink and began to fill the vases with water. "You really wanna know?"

"No."

"Didn't think so." He smirked and put the tulips into one vase and the daises into the other. Cards were attached to the stems. "But only the daisies are from me. The tulips are from you."

Red eyed him suspiciously. "They are?"

"Yeah, man. They're my thanks to you... for..." Hyde cleared his throat and leaned his back against the counter. "Red, I gotta tell you something."

The ever-present annoyance on Red's face softened. "What is it, son?"

"You're..." Hyde's gaze lowered to his boots, but he forced himself to raise it again. "You're a good dad, man." His mouth was dry, his pulse was racing like a speeding train, but he continued. "Forman's said some shit to you, and maybe someday he'll get where the hell you were coming from. Maybe he won't... But I get it."

"Oh, yeah?" Red said quietly. "Where's was I coming from?"

"You didn't want him to be trapped."

Red said nothing. Simply nodded.

9:02 A.M.

Hyde had gone downstairs to his room, pulled out Zeppelin's _Houses of the Holy,_ and brought the record back into the basement. He put it on Forman's stereo, and the opening notes of "The Song Remains the Same" rocked through the speakers.

He smiled in approval and sat in his chair, laying the bouquet of roses in his lap.

_"_ _I had a dream,"_ Robert Plant sang from the stereo. _"Crazy dream. Anything I wanted to know, any place I needed to go..."_

Hyde laced his fingers over his stomach, let his eyes drift closed. Why couldn't he wake up to _this_ song every morning?

A few minutes later, Donna returned to the basement. "Zeppelin. Nice," she said. Then she walked up to him and poked his shoulder. "So are you."

He batted her away. "Knock it off."

She sat on the couch silently, and they listened to "The Rain Song" together. It was one of Zeppelin's slower songs—and one of his favorites.

The basement door opened just as the song finished. Jackie burst inside, alive and whole, and the sight of her glutted him with relief. "Steven?" she said, and he stood up, a grin forming on his lips.

She dashed to him and cupped both sides of his face. "Oh, my God, I love you so much, baby," she said and kissed him more tenderly than he remembered ever being kissed. He gave into her happily, though something had clearly changed again... and the change seemed pretty good.

They only parted when Donna cleared her throat and tapped their shoulders. Jackie was stroking the back of his hair, looking into his eyes. Tears were in hers. "You don't care about what happened in Chicago," she said as a statement.

"No. Just you."

She smiled, and a few tears spilled onto her cheeks. "I knew it. When I woke up this morning, I just felt it."

"Good." He smiled back but withdrew from her a little. "I got somethin' for you." The bouquet of roses had been dangling in his left hand, and he gave it to her.

Jackie's eyes widened as she stared at the bouquet: Eleven red roses with a pink rose in the middle. "You never get me flowers, _real_ flowers. The plastic ones you got me don't count."

"Things change, doll."

She lifted the bouquet to her nose and inhaled deeply. "You even knew to put a pink one in there... My God—Steven, are you okay?"

He couldn't stop smiling. His damn cheeks hurt. "Yeah. I think so," he said and took her hand gently. "Let's go put those in water." Then he pulled her toward the basement door.

Donna pointed to the stairs. "The kitchen's that way."

"We're not gonna do it there," he said.

"Then where...?" Jackie said.

He squeezed her hand, "Trust me, okay?" and she nodded.

9:37 A.M.

Hyde and Jackie were making out on the front porch of the Burkhart Mansion, and the bouquet had fallen to the lawn 'cause neither of them were holding back. Their kisses were insistent, growing fervent as their tongues played with each other. His hands were underneath Jackie's shirt, pressing into into her warm back. And Jackie palmed his butt, drawing his hips tightly against her. She felt so damn good this close, smelled good... tasted good. Small moans were escaping her throat, and his own breath came out in short, vocal bursts.  
 _  
"_ Jackie!"

They separated and turned toward the front door. Pam was standing in the open doorway, and by the distressed expression on her face, she'd been standing there for a while... watching.

"Hey, Mrs. Burkhart," he said. "Can we come in?"

Pam blinked, momentarily seeming unable to speak. "Su-sure."

Jackie pecked Hyde's lips. "Just a second, baby," she said. Then she hopped off the porch and grabbed the roses from the lawn. He offered her his arm once she returned, and they entered the living room together.

They followed Pam past her well-stocked bar and the white couch, past the carpeted staircase and the grandfather clock. They walked into the large kitchen, where Jackie took out a crystal vase from the cabinets. The knife block sat on the counter like the last time Hyde had been here—three years ago. He'd sliced his wrist with the paring knife on that September 8th, but now the knife was snug inside its wooden sheathe, having never touched his blood.

Jackie was busy filling the vase with water, and Hyde rested his hip against the counter. Pam didn't seem to know where to stand or what to do. She was fiddling nervously with a thread of her belly-baring sweater and pacing the kitchen.

He cleared his throat. "Mrs. Burkhart—"

"Why so formal, Sven?" she said and finally stood still. "Call me Pam."

"Think I'll stick to 'Mrs. Burkhart,' thanks." He was looking her right in the face, but only a fraction of his usual shame surfaced.

_Huh._ That was different.

"His name is _Steven,_ Mom," Jackie said. She'd finished arranging the roses and turned from the counter. "God, why can't you remember that?"

Pam wound the stray sweater thread around her finger and began pacing again. "Oh. I'm sorry, honey. Go on, Sve—Steven."

"Yeah," he said, walking forward, "there's something else I want you to remember, _Mrs. Burkhart:_ I'm in love with your kid."

Pam froze in her steps, but Jackie gasped and hugged him from behind. "Steven!"

He slid his hands over the top of Jackie's arms and continued. "Didn't know how much I could fucking love before I met her, so... thanks for giving birth to my wife, man."

"You're... welcome?" Pam said. She sounded half-touched, half-confused.

Jackie was squeezing Hyde around the waist tighter, and it felt as if she were crying into his back. "You're wife?" she whispered.

"Future wife," he said. "Whatever." Then he returned his attention to Pam. "Oh, and Jackie makes me come harder than any chick I've ever nailed—and a whole lot harder than you ever could."

Pam flinched as if he'd struck her, and her fingers tore the thread off her sweater.

Jackie shouted, "Oh, my Go—"

But he cut Jackie's exclamation short and pulled her into the living room. They were out the front door amid a sea of her giggles, and he had to partially carry her to the gravel driveway. She got into the Camino on her own. But once he sat in the driver's seat, she attacked him, kissing his mouth and neck fiercely. Her hands slid beneath his shirt, over his bare chest, scratched lightly at his skin...

He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her lips and tongue. His own hands eased up the small of her back, and his muscles relaxed as a thick breath left him.

"Steven," she said and pressed a kiss underneath his jaw, "I need you. _Now._ "

"I don't wanna make love to you in the damn car."

She sprang off him, looking spooked. "What did you just say?"

"I don't wanna have sex with you in the Camino, doll."

"No, no, no. You said, 'make love'." She jabbed a finger at him. "You have never, _never_ called it that."

He shrugged. "Whatever the hell I called it, you know what it is."

She was smiling now, a coy smile that emerged only during a happy thought. "Did you propose to me back in my mom's kitchen?" she said.

He returned the smile. "Guess I kinda did."

"Steven, I really do wanna be your wife someday, so if you're not serious..."

"I want a future with you, Jackie..." he said. He cradled her cheeks, and his fingers rested by her ears. "And I want _right now._ So let's enjoy it while we've got it." He leaned in and gave her a gentle kiss. "Okay?"

She nodded between his hands. "Okay."

10:22 A.M.

The sun was shining brightly on the Formans' driveway as Hyde made the winning basket for his and Fez's team. "Yes!" Fez shouted and gave Hyde a high-five. "The next time we play, invite some whores. If they watch me beat Kelso in basketball, they might think I'm a better lover than him."

"You'll need a lot more practice for that," Donna said. "Kelso's pretty good... at basketball."

Fez twisted up his face. "But I beat him just now!"

"Technically," she picked up the basketball from the pavement, "Hyde beat him. He scored the majority of the points. He's _really_ good at the game. Way better than Kelso."

Hyde scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. He had a feeling she was talking about a lot more than basketball—even if she didn't know it.

"Aww, man!" Kelso was pouting in the shadow of the basketball hoop. "I hate losing."

"You gotta come up with a new strategy, man!" Hyde said and moved back toward Jackie. She was sitting in front of the garage door on one of the green porch chairs. "Sinking the ball into the hole is just part of the game. You gotta learn some finesse. The rhythm of your dribbling counts a lot, man—how to maneuver around the other players into your shots."

Kelso narrowed his eyes. "We're still talking about basketball, right?"

"Oh, who cares?" Jackie said. Then she clapped. "Steven proposed!"

"Oh, my God," Donna dropped the basketball and strode over to her, "congratulations!" She was smiling genuinely and patting Hyde's back.

But Kelso was shaking his head. "After what happened last night? No way. It's gotta be a setup."

"I agree," Fez said. "If I caught my woman about to do it with Michael Kelso, I would not be proposing to her..." He frowned. "I wish I had a woman."

"So where's the ring?" Donna said.

Hyde glanced at his right hand. The eyeball ring was still on his pinky. "Crap."

"I don't need a ring today," Jackie said. She stood up and hugged his waist. "The proposal was enough."

"No, wait," he said. He pulled Jackie's arms from him but held onto her left hand. Then he brought her to the middle of the driveway where the sun was shining.

"Steven, what are you doing?" she said.

He lowered to one knee on the pavement, dragged the ring off his pinky. He looked up at her and held the ring to her left thumb. _"It is the springtime of my loving,"_ he said in French, " _the second season I am to know. You are the sunlight in my growing. So little warmth I've felt before._ "

Jackie's right hand shot to her heart. "Is that Victor Hugo?"

"Zeppelin." He slid the ring up her thumb and got to his feet.

"Steven, that was perfect," she said. Her arms snaked around the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. But before they could start to make out again, Donna broke them apart.

"'C'est le printemps?'" Donna said, repeating some of what he'd recited to Jackie.

"Yeah, I know French now," he said.

She furrowed her brow. "Why doesn't that seem strange to me?"

12:04 P.M.

After a few more games of basketball, Hyde drove everyone to The Hub. The place looked as it usually did, crowded with tables and teenagers. Same songs were playing from the jukebox, but it felt different to him. Maybe 'cause this was the first time in four years they were all here together.

"Michael, quit talking about it," Jackie said. She and Hyde were sitting in the booth seat. His arm was draped over her shoulders, and she was feeding him potato chips.

"But I can't believe Hyde's cool with what happened last night," Kelso said.

"I just kicked your ass in two-on-two What's not to be cool with?" Hyde said. He took a sip of his pop and bit down a belch. "Plus, I know _you_ know I'm gonna cut off your dick if you ever try that shit again. Right?"

Kelso nodded. "Glad to have you back, man." He gestured between himself and Hyde. "I missed this."

They moved onto other subjects—most Hyde had heard before, some he hadn't—and he interrupted a discussion about the clogged sink in Kelso and Fez's apartment. "Hey," he said, "there's something I want you guys to check out with me after lunch."

"Ooh, is it a plumbing snake?" Fez said. "Because Fenton refuses to put his down my drain."

"No. I'll tell ya when we get there."

Donna laughed. "You're so weird today, Hyde. Nice, but weird."

Jackie scowled at her. "Shut up, Donna! He's not weird. He's perfect." Then she fed Hyde another potato chip.

1:43 P.M.

Everyone was standing across the street from the Le Motel in Burlington. Hyde had warned them to keep their traps shut and not to move—'cause they were about to witness something cool happen.

"Does it have something to do with sex?" Fez whispered.

Hyde frogged him. "Didn't I just tell you to keep your trap shut?"

Across the street, a skinny guy with dark hair and thick glasses was walking arm-in-arm with a brunette. They were half a block from the motel.

Donna covered her mouth. "Oh, my God, is that Eric?" She took a step forward, but Hyde held her back.

"No," he said, "that's—"

"If that is Eric," Fez said, "then he is with Jackie... but Jackie is right here."

Jackie wrinkled her nose. "Oh, she looks nothing like m—"

The skinny guy and the brunette—the Wisconsin Waster and his intended victim—neared the motel's glass doors. But five plainclothes cops converged on them. Four shoved the Waster to the concrete and cuffed him while the fifth yanked the now-screaming brunette to safety.

"What's going on?" Donna whispered.

"Holy shit," Kelso said. "Those are my buddies from the police station. Are they—who are they busting?"

"The Wisconsin Waster," Hyde said.

A sharp laugh left Donna's throat. "That's him? That's the guy you warned me about this morning?"

"And we've got our weapon," one of the cops said. He was holding up the Waster's folding hunter knife.

Jackie tapped Hyde's arm. "Who's the Wisconsin Waster?"

"A bad, __bad__ guy," Hyde and Kelso said together.

Kelso hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and shook his head. "I thought he'd be, like, this big, wrestler-type guy. That's how I always saw him in my dreams. Who the hell knew he'd look like—"

"A nerdier, creepier version of Eric," Jackie said and drew herself closely to Hyde.

He held her around the waist but peered over at at Donna. She was quietly rubbing her wrist and smiling a small smile—maybe unconsciously. If on some level she remembered what the Waster did to her, he hoped watching him get busted gave her some peace.

_2_ :07 P.M.

Hyde drove everyone to Echo Lake and parked the Vista Cruiser on Grove Street. It was an isolated area, past where most people were swimming or canoeing. He'd spent a relaxing day here once. The lake wasn't too far from the motel, and he'd prepared for this trip, brought a couple of towels and his duffel bag for dry clothes. He'd also had Jackie get her suitcase from Kelso's car before they'd left for The Hub—so she'd have fresh clothes, too.

Everyone piled out of the 'Cruiser, and Hyde began to take off his boots.

"What are you doing?" Donna said.

"I'm gonna take a swim." Left boot was off, and he pulled off the second.

"Now?" She was staring at him.

He yanked off his left sock. "Why not?" The grass felt cool beneath his foot.

"All right!" Kelso shouted. He ripped off his shirt, started to yank off his pants. "Last one in's an uggo who can't get any!"

"It won't be me, you sonuvabitch!" Fez stripped off his clothes, too. A moment later, he and Kelso were both in their underwear—and the first into the water.

Donna took a towel from the 'Cruiser and lay it on the grass. "I'm just gonna sit here and watch," she said.

"Come on, Donna!" Jackie was already down to her bra and panties. The eyeball ring was off her thumb, safely tucked away in the pocket of her jeans. "Remember when we went skinny dipping in the reservoir?"

"Yeah." Donna plunked down on the towel. "Someone stole our clothes, and we ended up driving naked to Hyde's house."

Hyde was stripped down to his black boxers now, and he gathered everyone's clothes from the grass. "Won't happen this time," he said and shoved the clothes into the 'Cruiser. Then he shut the door.

"What if someone tries to hot-wire the car?" Donna said, but she, Hyde, and Jackie burst into laughter. "Yeah, I guess the chances of someone stealing the 'Cruiser are really slim. All right..." She unlaced her sneakers and stood up. Soon, she was out of her jeans, but she kept her shirt on. "Hyde, can I wear one of your shirts afterward? I don't need Ding and Dong over there gaping at this juicy stuff on the drive home."

"No problem," he said.

The three of them, Hyde, Jackie, and Donna, went down to the lake. Donna dove into the water first, and Kelso immediately launched into a splash-attack, prompting Jackie to pull Hyde down the riverbank a little. Then, holding hands, they walked backwards a few steps and took a running jump into the lake.

Their hands separated as their bodies sunk below the water's surface. Hyde kicked his legs and popped his head back into the air, but Jackie was gone. He turned to his right and spotted Donna and Fez splashing an annoyed Kelso. He turned to his left, and...

"Come and get me!" Jackie shouted. She was waving at him from twenty feet away. "I might not be wearing anything if you do!"

"Damn it." He inhaled a deep breath and dove under the water. He swam as quickly as he could, though swimming was never his thing. Didn't even know any real strokes, just the moves a seven-year-old Forman had taught him one summer: __Push the water away with your arms, kick with the legs.__

His eyes were open, and as he swam closer to Jackie, her fully naked body became clear to him in the murky green lake. He rose to the surface, and she grabbed a hold of him. Her bra and panties were slipped over her arm.

"You're warm," she said, giggling.

He wrapped his arms around her slick, wet back. She was warm, too.

Silently, they held each other in the water, using their legs to keep their heads above the surface. The lake was cold—but nothing like Lake Joanis at Stevens Point. The bright blue sky stretched above them, and, for the first time in five years—since he'd first fallen off the Water Tower—Hyde could feel the sun lighting up insides... or maybe it was Jackie.

She was smiling at him as if they were sharing the same thought. He moved his face in closer, needed to be closer, and they began to kiss. Their mouths moved together in perfect rhythm, sending pleasure straight into both body and mind. The way their lips blended then separated, their tongues surging against each other—nothing was missing anymore. Their kisses felt whole.

When their faces finally parted, Hyde was breathing heavily. He was also almost fully erect—a strange sensation underneath the water—but more than that...

"Jackie," he said quietly, "no matter what happens 'tomorrow'... I feel free today."

Jackie's fingers were brushing through the wet curls at the nape of his neck, and she sighed peacefully. "Me, too, baby." Then a mischievous grin broke on her lips. She glided her hands down his back and into his soaked shorts—and grasped his butt. "We're not in a car..."

Her stiff nipples were pushing against his bare chest, and her naked entrance was only inches away from him. He wanted her, every damn piece of him did. But he'd waited four years; he could wait a little longer.

"No rubber," he said. "And you really want Fez and Kelso to watch?"

"Eww..." She looked over his shoulder at them.

"But if you can maneuver your panties back on," he said, "I think we can do a couple of things..."

"You want my panties back on?" she said.

"Just in case my swimmers break out... Gotta have __some__ protection, man."

"Oh." She separated from him and managed to slip on her panties underneath the water. Then she swam back and hugged herself to his hips, wriggling against them playfully. "So what can we do?"

"I heard a rumor once," he said, "that Burkhart nipples are eternal."

"Yeah," she was glancing down at her chest, "they'll be this beautiful forever. But," she looked up at him again, "like a garden, they need some tending to."

He returned her mischievous grin, "Got just the tools for that," and dipped below the surface of the lake.

3:57 P.M.

Jackie was resting her head on Hyde's shoulder while he drove everyone back to Point Place. She seemed exhausted, and he couldn't blame her. They'd both climaxed in the lake from his "tending," but afterward, as they clung to each other in the water, he knew she wasn't satisfied. She'd been waiting four years, too... _  
_

4:10 P.M

Everyone filed into the Formans' kitchen, tired and hungry. Kelso opened the fridge and pulled out the packet of ham and a couple of beers. Fez was sniffing the tulips and daisies on the counter, and Donna sat at the table. But Jackie was leaning against Hyde's arm, eyes half-closed.

"Want some ham, Jackie?" Kelso said and waved a piece in front of her face.

She swatted him away. "All I want is a nap."

"Suits me," Hyde said. He grasped her hand, and they went downstairs to his room. They got comfy in his cot together, and both fell asleep almost instantly.

6:12 P.M.

Hyde and Jackie were awoken by a frantic knock on his door. He got off the cot and unlocked the door to find Mrs. Forman standing there in tears.

"Mrs. Forma—"

She threw her arms around him tightly. "You wonderful, wonderful boy. _I love you, too!"_

She was practically choking him, but he managed to croak out, "So you got the flowers?"

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, honey." She let him go but cupped his face and looked at him for a moment. Her eyes were still wet. "You really are my son, Steven. I couldn't love you more if I'd given birth to you myself."

"Better than if you'd given birth to me," he mumbled, but he felt only a mixture of sadness and warmth. No anger.

He embraced Mrs. Forman fully in his arms, and she cried a little into his neck. "You and Red are just the sweetest men alive."

_"Shh..."_ he said. "Don't want Jackie knowin' that."

"Too late, Puddin'," Jackie said behind him.

Hyde and Mrs. Forman parted, and she rubbed his shoulder tenderly. "I'm sorry for being such a Tearful Tilly. It's been a long day."

He nodded. "I know the feeling." And then the image of a violet-splotched forehead burst into his mind. "Mrs. Forman," he said, "a woman was brought to the hospital today, pregnant. She was in a car accident—"

"Sarah Hobart?" Mrs. Forman said, and her lips bent into a frown.

"Crap." Hyde gripped Jackie's hand behind him. Those extra minutes hadn't helped. "She's dead."

Mrs. Forman's expression shifted from sadness to bewilderment. "Yes, but how did you—"

"I'm the one who called the hospital."

"Oh, my—oh, my God," she covered her mouth, and her voice became a whisper, "it was you. You're the one who—you saved her."

"From what," he said, "dying in the damn car?"

"No!" Fresh sobs lifted from Mrs. Forman's throat, and it took a moment before she spoke again. "They were—they were able to save her baby, Steven, her daughter. And Ben—Mr. Hobart—he named her..."

She was visibly shaking, looked as if she were about to collapse, and Hyde and Jackie both guided her to his cot.

"Heidi," Mrs. Forman whispered. "He named her after you. I didn't realize... but how? He didn't know who called..."

Hyde's own legs felt like Jell-O beneath him, and he had to sit down, too. He'd done it. He saved one of 'em. Saved their kid... thanks to Jackie's insight. "Holy shit," he said. "Holy... fuckin' shit."

Jackie sat beside him and rubbed his back. She didn't question what was going on, but the triumphant, satisfied smile she wore told him she already knew. Somewhere inside her, she knew.

6:46 PM.

In the dining room, everyone was seated and eating the steaks Mrs. Forman had made Red get from the supermarket. The September 8th spaghetti sauce had already been cooking on the stove, but learning of Hyde's "heroism" apparently inspired her to make his favorite meal. He wasn't complaining. It was a nice gesture, and he appreciated it.

Also nice: Her mood during this dinner seemed considerably better than usual. No mention so far of Forman, Africa, or how it was Red's fault that Forman was _in_ Africa. She even demanded a kiss from Red when he accidentally dropped some peas onto the floor. Hyde was glad to see it. Red deserved a break, too

About halfway through the meal, Jackie clanked her her fork on her glass. "I have an announcement," she said and stood up. She presented her thumb with Hyde's eyeball ring on it. "Steven Hyde and I are getting married!"

"We already know that!" Fez said.

Donna elbowed him. "The Formans don't."

Kitty covered her heart with both hands. "Oh, my goodness! This is wonderful!" Then she clapped elatedly. "I might actually get grandchildren!"

"Congratulations, son," Red said, and he flashed a rare smile before taking a bite of his steak.

"You're _congratulating_ them?" Donna said. "How can you be all zippy-doo about their engagement when you tried to sabotage mine and Eric's for a year?" .

Red put down his fork. "It's simple: Steven's not an immature high school dumbass with no car, no job, and no money."

"BURN!" Kelso shouted.

"And when Eric comes back from Africa," Red continued, "if you two want to get engaged—once you're both where you belong, _in college—_ I'll be all 'zippy-doo' for _you,_ all right?"

Donna opened her mouth as if she wanted to respond, but she only sighed and nodded.

Hyde scooped mashed potatoes onto his fork as his thoughts drifted to Forman. Whatever future Hyde had or didn't, he hoped Forman and Donna got the chance to have theirs.

8:52 P.M.

Hyde rolled a 3 with the dice and moved his yellow "Colonel Mustard" game piece into the conservatory. He and his friends had been playing _Clue_ in the basement for the last forty-five minutes, and he had a good guess who'd killed Mr. Boddy.

"Mr. Green with the pipe in the conservatory," he said. Then he opened the envelope containing the solution cards and grinned. "Yup."

Everyone groaned as he lay the cards on the table. "I was so close!" Fez said. "I thought it was Miss Scarlet with the candlestick in the kitchen."

"Fez, that's nowhere near close," Donna said.

"Winner cleans up!" Kelso shouted, and he, Fez, and Jackie moved away from the spool table as if it were on fire.

Hyde scowled. "Whatever, sore losers." But he started to clean up anyway.

Donna helped him. "You're so different, Hyde," she said.

"Yeah, don't think about it too hard," he said and gathered all the game cards into a pile. "A lot can happen in a day."

9:07 P.M.

Hyde was sitting on his chair with Jackie in his lap. Fez had turned the TV to _The Love Boat,_ and Kelso said, "Have we seen this before?"

"No. It's a new episode," Fez said.

Kelso shook his head. "I swear I've seen this before."

Donna waved at him. _"Shh..."_

Hyde had definitely seen the episode before, too many times. But he wasn't really paying attention to the show. Jackie's fingertips were tracing lazy circles up and down his arm, prickling his skin.

"I wanna go to your room," she whispered by his ear.

He stood up with her and took hold of her hand. He began to lead her toward his room when Donna said, "Where are you going?"

"Where do you think, Donna?" Fez shook his fists in a synchronized, coordinated dance. "They're going to do it!"

Hyde ignored them and brought Jackie into his room. The first thing he did was find his _Led Zeppelin II_ album and put it on his stereo. The riff from "Whole Lotta Love" blasted from his speakers—that would keep Kelso and Fez from hearing anything.

Jackie was almost completely naked by the time he returned his attention to her. She lay down on his cot, slipped off her panties, and opened her arms wide. Wordlessly, he pulled off his shirt and eased into her hug. He stayed there silently for a little while, enjoying the feel of her breath, her heartbeat. Then he raised himself on his hands to look at her. She was smiling at him—most beautiful fuckin' girl he'd ever seen—and she reached up, touched his face.

Her eyes were asking him a question: _Are you ready?_

He sat up in response, unbuckled his belt. A few moments later, he was down to his boxers, and he lowered himself back over Jackie's body. He couldn't keep himself away from her anymore.

He kissed her gently at first, teasingly. But he didn't test her patience too long—or his own. The intensity of his kisses increased swiftly, building to a crescendo that had her clutching the back of his head and pulling him deeply into her mouth.

Their heartbeats were pounding, and their breaths were heavy, and his lips and tongue gave full attention to the less obvious parts of her—the spaces between her fingers, the sensitive skin behind her earlobe, the spot right beneath her ribs. He wanted to taste the whole of her... because he _loved_ the whole of her, every damn cell.

She moaned softly as he left open-mouthed kisses along the curve of her waist, and his kisses grew thicker on her breasts, where he sucked and licked until long after her nipples became stiff and her moans rose in volume.

But as his tongue carved a path to her neck, she bucked her hips against him and grabbed desperately at his back. Her moans had become whimpers—like she was in pain.

"Jackie..." He lifted himself off her, but she gripped his shoulders and pulled him back. Her eyes were wide, wet. She looked terrified. "Hey, what is it, doll? What's wrong?"

"I'm afraid you're not gonna do it, Steven. I..." Her eyes squeezed shut, and tears fell down her temples.

He sat up and brought Jackie into his arms. "However you want it," he said. "Okay?"

"I want it _now,_ " she said and guided him to lie on his back. He was completely hard, and she gave a little cheer once she yanked off his boxers. "Finally!" She grasped the base of his shaft and gave his dick a light kiss. Then she pressed her cheek against it.

"Holy hell—" Laughter exploded from his chest, reams and reams of laughter, and he draped an arm over his mouth to stifle it. "Ja—Jackie What the hell are you doing?"

"Oh!" Her hand released him, and she glanced away. "I guess I've just missed you... like this."

"Like what?"

"Hard."

She seemed embarrassed—but if she were, she got over it quickly. Her hips swayed as she sauntered to the front of his cot. His small dresser stood just behind it, and she opened the top drawer, plucked out something.

His erection was sheathed inside a rubber a few seconds later. Jackie crawled on top of his body and grabbed his shoulders, leaning into him as she positioned herself. "God, baby," she said, "it feels like I've been waiting forever." Then she sank down on him until he filled her.

His eyes fell shut at the sensation. It had been too long, too damn long. His hands slid up her thighs to her hips, but they couldn't settle there. She'd bent over his chest and rested her forehead beside him on the pillow. Silently, she started to move, squeezing his shaft tightly with her pelvic muscles.

A loud groan pulled out of him after her first thrust. He tried to catch his breath, but she continued to grind into his body that way, forcing more groans from his throat.

She was _fucking_ him.

After all their time apart, _this_ was what she was doing? Panic rose in his chest despite the physical pleasure erupting into the rest of him. Maybe after all he'd done to her, all the other chicks—her mother, Sam, Donna—all the hurt he'd given her, the waiting, the fear, the death—maybe she _couldn't_ connect with him anymore...

No. That was bullshit. He had a choice here: Let her keep doing this, keep fucking him, or try to make it right.

He held onto her waist to get some traction. "Ja—fuck, slow down. I—" Another hard thrust, and another groan. "Damn it, I want to see you, okay?"

The pressure on his shaft relented. "I wanna make you feel good," she whispered by his cheek. "I wanna give you enough so—so you'll want to stay."

"You are... _fuck,_ you are. But I want this to be about you... not about my dick."

She sat up, giving him a full view of her. Her hands found purchase on his chest, and she began to move again.

He grasped her hips, "Slow it down..." and guided her movement a little. "Yeah, just like that. That's nice."

"Oh, God... you are so sexy right now." She increased the pressure—but not too much—and leaned forward, this time keeping her eyes fixed on his. "Steven...I—" She sucked in a breath that turned into an exhaled moan. "Baby... the way you're looking at me..."

He was smiling, felt like his whole freakin' body was smiling. He tried to speak, but he was beyond words now. Hoped she knew how good she was makin' him feel, how much he fucking loved her. His fingers dug into her hips as he glided himself into her, matching the slow, fluid rhythm she'd eased into. This was what he wanted, a damn moment where time fell away, and nothing stood between them.

"You love me..." she said between gasping breaths. "God, I feel it, Steven!"

He groaned helplessly, happily in response. All that she was filled him up, as if she were coursing through his veins, bringing light to all those dark places still left creeping in the corners. The feeling of it strengthened his thrusts, made him want to give all that he was to her. And soon, Jackie's warmth was squeezing him again, but this time in spasm. She was coming hard, driving pleasure deep into him... and, finally, they released together.

10:43 P.M.

Hyde was on his cot, holding Jackie tightly in his arms. She'd fallen asleep on top of him, head tucked beneath his chin. He could feel his own body drifting to sleep, lulled by her soft breathing. It would be a momentary slumber; he had one last obligation to fill today. But once he filled it, he'd fall asleep to this particular September 8th, 1979 forever—losing this Jackie in the process.

He nuzzled his face into her hair, and she inhaled sharply as if she'd felt him. It was okay. Even though he'd wake up without her "tomorrow," he was okay. He had her now, in this moment.

And this moment was good. _  
_

1:10 AM.

Hyde's alarm beeped loudly, waking him and Jackie up with a start.

"You've gotta make that phone call?" she said.

"Yeah," he said and gave her a warm hug. But it still weirded him out that she remembered the call. "Back in a minute."

He left his room and went to the basement couch, dialed the Elkhart, Illinois police about the parking lot rapist. Then he returned to his room and slipped underneath his knit blanket.

Jackie cuddled into him, left a drowsy kiss on his neck "Steven..."

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for coming back."

* * *

Hyde was dreaming...

__A purple-flowered meadow sprawled out before his eyes, along with everyone who loved him—Red and Mrs. Forman, his uncle Chet, W.B. and Angie. All his friends, Leo, Donna, Kelso, Fez, and even Forman._ _

_Soft hands glided over his palms, grasped them, and he turned to his right. Jackie was standing in front of him, dressed completely in white. Her beautiful, serene face gazed at him, and he squeezed her hands gently._

_"You have any fucking clue how right you were?" he said. "About everything?"_

_"I do," she said. "I do, I do, I do, I..."_

Hyde woke with a groan. His eyes remained closed. He didn't want to see the dingy walls of the motel just yet.

"What's wrong, Puddin'?"

His breath froze in his throat. That wasn't how the ABBA song went.

"Steven?"

Soft, strong fingers pried open one of his eyes. Jackie was above him, and he slid a hand up her arm. Her skin was smooth and warm beneath his palm. She was really there.

He kept his eyes only half open. "What time is it?" he said.

"Um..." her head angled to the left, as if she were looking at the alarm clock on his shelf, "eight twenty-one."

"'Eight twenty...'" His body began to shake. "What, um... what day is it?"

"Sunday. __D'uh.__ Yesterday was Saturday, remember?" She pecked his lips and smiled against them. "All day." She pecked his lips again then snuggled into chest. "The alarm went off at eight, but you slept through it. I didn't wanna wake you." Her fingers trailed up to his forehead, combed through his hair. "You're really cute when you sleep."

He couldn't move. He just lay in his cot, staring at the duct running across his room. The bare bulb was turned on, explaining how he could see. Jackie must have done that. "It's eight twenty-one?" he said. _  
_ _  
_"No," she said. "Now it's eight twenty-three."

"Huh."

He continued to stare at the ceiling, unable to move.

But Jackie's frowning face soon replaced the pipes. "Did you have a bad dream or something?" She touched a fingertip to the corner of his eye, and her skin glinted, as if it were wet.

"No. A really good one," he said.

"Was I in it?"

"No good dream's without you, doll."

Her frown melted into a smile, warming her eyes. The way she was looking at him lit his insides, and the kiss she gave him afterward heated his whole body. He regained movement; his hands traveled up her back and buried themselves in her hair.

When he and Jackie finally parted, it was a little after nine o'clock. He gave them both a minute to get re-dressed before pulling her out of his room.

No one was in the basement besides them, not even Donna, and he turned on the TV. It was tuned to CBS. But instead of __The Bugs Bunny/Road Runner Show, CBS News Sunday Morning__ popped up on the screen.

Hyde sank to the couch, listening to Bob Schieffer talk about President Carter and Cuba. Jackie sat down next to him and rubbed his back. "Don't you want breakfast?" she said.

"Yeah." He pushed himself to his feet, grabbed her hand. Then he led her upstairs to the kitchen. The tulips and daisies he'd gotten Mrs. Forman were still on the counter—but Mrs. Forman wasn't there cooking breakfast, and Red wasn't there to eat it.

Hyde brought Jackie into the living room next, also empty. So he began to drag her toward the carpeted stairs.

She stopped him. "Steven, what's going on with you?"

"Where are they?" he said.

"Who?"

"The Formans?"

She rolled her eyes. "At church. It's __Sunday.__ _"_

"It's Sunday..." He scooped Jackie in his arms and spun her around. "It's really fucking Sunday!"

"Yeah!" She was giggling. "Why are you grinning like that?"

"Just... happy." Then he carried her back to the kitchen, out of the sliding door, and into the morning sun. The blue sky had different wisps of clouds in it, different shapes. "Jackie..." he put her down on the porch, "am I acting like a fuckin' botard?"

She caressed the side of his face. "A little, but I still love you."

"Yeah?" He arched an eyebrow. "For how long?"

"Always." She raised herself on her toes and kissed him softly. "Today." She kissed him again. "Tomorrow." Kissed him a third time, but deepened the kiss before she parted. "And all the days after that... always."

He hugged her silently, tightly. He'd done things in the last four years no one else would ever be able to do—and walk away whole. He'd died, and he'd killed, and he'd had enough. He'd given love and received it, and he had enough... more than enough. A fresh smile surfaced on his lips, and he shut his eyes against Jackie's hair. Finally, he was enough.

"Steven," she said, "how long are you gonna love __me?"__

He loosened his hold on her. Then he placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. "Never gonna stop, Grasshopper."

Her face lit up, and she pointed to the Sunday sky. "What does that cloud look like to you?"

"Uh..." He followed her finger to a curly wisp. "The trunk of the elephant Forman's probably running from."

"I'm sure Eric grabbed enough airplane peanuts to pay off the elephants," she said and lightly poked his cheek. He was still smiling, and it seemed to amuse her. "The cloud reminds me of that slide at the playground. You know, the metal one that curved up too much?"

"Oh, the one kept catching on Kelso's pants and hooking his underwear?"

She nodded. "Yeah, that's the one. The sad thing is, he still goes on that slide—and it still hooks his stupid underwear!" She began to chuckle and covered her mouth. "Anyway... what do you wanna do today, Puddin'?"

His smile deepened, which made her full-out laugh and hit his chest lightly. "This," he said. "I want to do this."

"And what's 'this'?" she said. But her expression told him she knew the answer. He loved that mischievous quirk to her mouth, and the way the sunlight reflected off her hair... fuckin' beautiful. He silently soaked her in, but she tugged on his shirt. "Steven, tell meeee."

_"This..."_ he cupped her chin and brought his lips in for kiss, "is enjoying it."


	26. Better Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do” (C) ABBA; 1993 Polydor / Umgd.

EPILOGUE  
 **BETTER DAYS**

_September 8th, 1980_

_Point Place, Wisconsin_

_Forman's Basement_

**...**

**2:42 P.M.**

A huge banner with the words, "Welcome Home, Eric!" was strung from the basement staircase to the shower. Colorful streamers hung from the ceiling, and balloons were tied to anything that would keep them from floating away. The party had already started in Forman's absence. Donna, Red, and Mrs. Forman were off to the airport to pick him up—which left Hyde in charge of making sure the basement didn't get trashed in their absence.

Yeah, they'd picked the right guy.

On the spool table, a full plate of Forman's favorite cupcakes sat untouched by Fez or Kelso... 'cause Hyde had frogged them whenever they got close. All the balloons were still intact because Hyde had swiped Kelso's pins from him. The two-liter bottles of pop hadn't been shaken, the stack of plastic cups hadn't been toppled, and Kelso and Fez were sulking by the stereo...

 _Crap._ The Formans _had_ picked the right guy.

But he was in too good a mood to give a shit. He and Jackie were sitting on the couch together, playing with some party favors. She'd scooted onto his lap, draping her legs over his knees, and blew a green blowout into his cheek.

"You think that's funny?" he said.

"I do," she said, and unrolled the blowout into his cheek again: __Fwap!__

He grabbed his own blowout and puffed it against her nose. __Fwap!__ "Huh. That _is_ funny." __Fwap! Fwap!__

She giggled, and they tried to see how many times they could __fwap__ each other in a minute. But he became lightheaded from the effort and declared her the winner.

"Oh, you're such a good loser, baby," she said, and she rewarded him with a kiss intense enough to steal his remaining breath.

"I didn't really lose," he said afterward. "Thing is, when you win—I win. There's no damn losing with you."

Jackie covered her heart. "Steven..."

He brushed some of her hair from her face and leaned in for another kiss. No more losing, and no more worries about freakin' trust. Never thought it would happen... but it did.

On September 10th, 1979, Hyde had withdrawn $3000 from the bank and sent it to Sam anonymously. And every month after that, he sent $200 more. It wasn't a helluva lot, but it would shave some time off her sentence. He tried to address the package whenever Jackie wasn't around, but she'd caught him once in the Formans' kitchen.

"Who's Samantha Gandler?" she said. Her arms were wrapped around Hyde's waist, and her cheek was pressed into his shoulder.

"Someone who helped me get back to you," he said, and that seemed to be enough for her—'cause she'd never asked about Sam again.

**2:46 P.M.**

The sixth step of the basement stairs creaked, and everyone stopped what they were doing. Hyde and Jackie quit making out. Kelso and Fez quit singing along to the Styx song on the stereo.

"Guess who's home!" Mrs. Forman shouted from above. Forman was climbing down the stairs with Donna and his parents behind him.

Hyde and Jackie stood up from the couch. His shades were in his room, like they usually were now, but he could've used them. He'd written Forman only one letter, saying he understood why Forman had left for Africa—and giving Forman a heads-up about the tiger lilies he'd bought for Donna. After that, Hyde let Mrs. Forman fill him in on the rest, including his engagement.

Kelso and Fez greeted Forman at the bottom of the stairs and hugged him together. Jackie embraced him next and shoved her engagement ring in his face. Forman took her hand and glanced over at Hyde.

"You finally gave up, huh?" Forman said with a smirk. He was tan, his hair was cut close to his scalp, and he looked older. His eyes, though, were brighter—as if they held a light that had long gone out.

"A man knows when he's beat, Forman," Hyde said and hugged him tightly. A thousand different things wanted to come out of his mouth, like __"I missed the hell outta you"__ and __"You ever leave this long again, I'll beat you into the ground."__ But what escaped was: __"Lord of the Rings__ kicks ass."

Forman laughed. "You read Tolkien?"

"Yeah," Donna said next to him. Her hair was back to its natural red, and her easy smile had finally returned. "He partially took over your role as geek."

"I'm gone a year," Forman sighed theatrically, "and everything changes."

"It's been a long year, man." Hyde gave him a pat on the back and let him go.

"Oh, you wanna talk about long, my friend?" Forman said. "The flight to Africa _ _—that__ was long. Felt like I was on the freakin' plane forever. My year in Africa zipped by in comparison. It was the strangest thing..."

Hyde looked up at the streamers and scratched the back of his neck. "Uh... sorry 'bout that, man."

"What?" Forman laughed again. "What did you have to do with it? I was a little scared to get on the flight home—but I fell asleep, woke up, and I was back in Wisconsin."

"Yeah, if you hadn't gotten on that plane," Donna said, tugging on Forman's sleeve, "I would've flown to Africa myself and dragged you back."

Forman smiled and grasped her hand gently. "No matter how far life takes us from each other, I'll always come back to you, m'lady."

"You better." She drew him close and kissed him, longer than maybe even Forman expected.

When she finally released him, he turned to Jackie. "So you're a..." he inhaled a recovering breath, "you're a Wisconsin-Parkside girl, I hear."

"Yup!" Jackie grinned and hugged Hyde's arm to her. "I really do have it all."

Hyde lay a soft kiss on top of her head. She seemed to love college—though she'd just started two weeks ago—and he was relieved she'd accepted W.B.'s offer to pay her tuition.

W.B. had given Jackie the news of his early wedding gift at exactly the right time, too: The day after Hyde brought her again to see her father in Michigan. Jack Burkhart told her of his second family, and she was angry. But the news didn't tear her apart like it had the first two times...

Something had changed.

"I can't forgive him today," she said to Hyde in the Titan Motel, "but maybe someday..." Then she cupped his face and gave him a tender kiss. "Thank you for making me see him."

Hyde had kept his promise to her, and in just the last few months, they'd driven to see her father again. On the long drive there, Jackie said, "Steven, do you ever think about seeing your mom or stepdad? Y'know, trying to find them?"

"Nah. Bud's got nothin' I want," he said. "And Edna... we're both happiest without each other."

**2:51 P.M.**

Everyone was seated around the spool table, listening to Forman talk about Africa. Donna rested her head on his shoulder as he spoke. Kelso and Fez were batting balloons at each other. And Jackie was feeding Hyde a chocolate-frosted cupcake while she sat in his lap. They were all just hanging out, as if no time had gone by at all... and Hyde couldn't quit smiling.

This was his life, man.

And it was good.


End file.
